Ghosts That We Knew
by CoolLikeBowTies
Summary: Not even death was going to keep him from his family.
1. Prelude

**(sigh) I give up in giving it up. See my profile for an explanation.**

**Basically, this will be a collection of Ghost!Damian one-shots. Because I hate the fact that the character was killed, and have a bit of experience when it comes to dealing with a child's death in real life. I also like writing emotional stories, as it helps me de-stress from things, and exploring potential paranormal shenanigans.**

**Originally, these stories were going to most likely center around Bruce, Dick and Damian. But I always say something like that and it ends up not happening, so. It's all up in the air still.**

**These one shots will all be based on different inspirations, ranging from songs to conversations I've had with people. I'll try to always let you cool kittens know. (This first bit isn't really based on anything, though.)**

* * *

"It's time to go, Damian."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes," the boy turned to the young couple standing behind him. "It means I respectfully decline."

The man smiled slightly as he sighed and cocked his head to the side. "I don't think you have a choice."

"Says who?" Damian responded, throwing his chin up as he crossed his arms. "I don't see any sort of god down here enforcing said lack of choice."

"He sent us to do it for him," the woman said softly. She reached out her gloved hand. "Now come with us, child. It's time for you to rest."

"I'm not tired." Sarcasm dripped from every word. The man let out a chuckle.

The woman continued. "You've led a hard life, darling-"

"_Hard_?" Damian snapped. "You want to talk about _hard_, Grandmother? Try being your _own son_. You _left_ him, he grew up _alone_. He lost everything _at age eight_. And you want to talk about _my life_ being _hard_? Compared to Father, my life was a stroll in the park."

"Damian," the man said gently, putting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Yes, Bruce's life was difficult. But without those hardships, he would have never been able to help so many people. Without him, where do you think your brothers be, hm?" The man smiled again. "Through our loss, he gained so much. He gained so many powerful friends and family, who Martha and I knew could keep him safe. He gained _you_."

Damian scoffed, looking away, back towards the Manor. "Oh yea, he gained me. And look where that got him."

Thomas followed Damian's line of sight towards the large window that housed the study. Bruce could be seen inside. He was sitting at the desk, his head in his hands, his body convulsing as sobs exploded through him. The three of them were across the grounds, by the entrance of the cemetery, but they could still hear his anguished cries, muffled only by the manor's thick walls.

"He loved you," Martha whispered. "Do not feel guilty for that."

"Kind of hard not to when he looks like this," Damian shrugged his grandfather's hand from his arm.

"Is that why you don't want to come with us?" Thomas asked.

"Regardless of if I feel guilty or not, I still decline your invitation," Damian stated, hearing a door to the manor open.

Martha and Thomas looked at each other before Martha said, "Why?"

"Because someone needs to take care of them," Damian said as he watched Dick and Tim come around the side of the building. No one spoke as the two neared them, and silently stared as they passed between their group, Tim accidentally going _through_ Martha's shoulder.

"Son, I don't think you can-"

"I can still touch things. I can still _feel_," Damian cut in. "I have retained all of my senses, I can do the things they're too stupid to do for themselves. I can watch over them while they are in battle, I can be there when they need comforting because _God knows_ they won't ever go to each other."

The Waynes didn't respond as they watched Dick and Tim move to their grandson's grave. Martha felt her throat tighten as Dick collapsed to his knees, trying to keep himself steady by gripping the tombstone itself. Thomas grimaced in empathy as Tim bent over, wrapping his arms around Dick's neck, tears flowing from his eyes.

Suddenly Damian was standing next to the brothers, staring at the other souls, his arms still crossed. "Do you really expect me to leave them like this?"

"You don't understand, love," Martha said, stepping forward as Dick suddenly punched the stone. "They won't be able to _hear_ you, _see_ you. It will drive you _crazy_."

"So I'll make them," Damian said as he crouched next to Dick, wiping away some of the blood that was now dripping unnoticed from his knuckles. "Even if I can't, it's a small price to pay."

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it, and turned it into a sigh as he rolled his eyes. "Stubborn, aren't you? Just like your dad."

Damian looked away from Dick and Tim, and back at his grandparents with a grin. "Stubbornness must run in the Wayne family, then." He paused. "…You two did the same after your murder, didn't you?"

Martha nodded. "Like you said, Bruce was alone. And we couldn't leave our baby alone."

"How long did you…stick around?"

"Years. We even stayed here in Gotham with Alfred while Bruce went around the world doing all that training." Thomas said. "We stayed even after he returned. We crossed over, though, I can't remember what made us decide to. Do you, honey?"

"Of course I do, Thomas." Martha smiled. "It was when Richard came to be a tenant at the manor. We felt Bruce finally had someone who would take care of him. Someone who would be able to battle the darkness that seemed to consume his life. Once Richard became a permanent fixture in Bruce's life, we knew…well, we knew he was going to be okay."

"Then I will do the same," Damian said, standing. "I will remain until I am no longer needed. By any of them."

"That day might never come, you know," Thomas said as he and Martha made their way towards him. It seemed they were giving in to his demands.

"I know."

Martha leaned forward and kissed Damian's forehead. "I'm so proud you," she whispered as she hugged him. "I cannot wait until I see you and Bruce again one day."

"But hopefully not too soon," Thomas said quickly. Damian looked at him as his grandfather put a hand to his face. "We'll be waiting for you, kiddo."

"Of course," Damian smiled. "Goodbye Grandfather. Grandmother. Give the big man my regards."

There was no giant white light. No thunderbolt or large wind. Thomas and Martha Wayne were laughing as they simply faded from view. Damian looked back down at his brothers, who were now both sitting in front of his grave, trying to dry the tears that refused to stop. Dick has his arm tight around Tim's shoulders, while Tim cradled Dick's newly injured hand, assessing the damage. Damian merely sat down next to them.

Until he was no longer needed.


	2. Where

**Don't expect updates as often as between last chapter and this one. I just wanted y'all to get kind of what I was going for with these stories, but...I got sidetracked and didn't really do a good job of that. Whoops. Also, I'm hoping to not make all chapters sad or angsty. I'm hoping to have some happy ones too.**

**This is based on the behaviors of my cat, who I considered one of my best friends, who passed away a few years ago. He used to panic whenever I wasn't home for a few days/when I was supposed to be. Also basing this on a common belief that animals have that 'sixth sense.' And that cats and dogs can speak to each other.**

**Next chapter will include Bruce or Dick. Promise. Maybe.**

* * *

He ran through the house, claws clicking on the wooden floors. As he continued down the hall, he didn't notice his speed increasing, his claws leaving scratches in the wood. Every room, empty. Every hallway, quiet.

Where was he? Where was his boy?

"You do this every day," the cat yawned, trotting behind him as he changed tactics. He would go in search of Master. His boy always seemed to be with Master.

"Of course I do. I have to find him. He's never been gone this long," Titus responded. He stopped outside another open door and peeked in. Still nothing. He looked back at his small companion. "You should be looking for him too, Alfred."

Alfred lowered his ears, hissing, "You think I'm not?"

Titus didn't flinch. "I would understand if you weren't. You do not know him as well as I do."

"I am looking for him in my own way, _dog_," Alfred snapped. "Just because I am not running through our home like our wild relatives does _not_ mean I am not looking for our boy!"

"I am sorry, friend," Titus lowered his head for a moment before continuing down the hall. "I am just…concerned. Something is wrong. Master is not himself. My boy is not here."

Titus walked to the end of the hall before looking back behind him at Alfred. The cat had not moved. In fact, he had just sat down in the hallway, unblinking. Titus cocked his head to the side. "Titus, have you explored the idea that Damian might not be returning?"

"No," Titus said quickly, but followed it with an involuntary whimper. "No. Do not talk like that. Damian always comes home. Sometimes he is not well when he does, but he does. Always."

"There will be a time when he doesn't." Alfred said softly, curling his tail around him as he lowered himself to the floor. Slowly, he closed his eyes, suddenly not looking like the kitten he was. "There's always a time when they don't come back…"

"No!" the dog growled. "Have you asked the cow? She has been in Master's dark shelter much more than you or I. Surely she knows something."

"The bovine knows nothing," Alfred said, eyes still closed, still in stuck in a painful nostalgia. "And if she does, she has not told me. Though she seems…different. Much like Master and the one who gives us food-"

He stopped as footsteps echoed through the house. Titus immediately stopped growling, head perking towards the sound. It was not one human, but two. None of the steps he could hear were those of his boy, but that was no matter. Master sometimes carried him. Titus could not keep the grin from his face. "Master! Hear that, Alfred? Master is here! Let us go find him. He will tell us where our boy is!"

Titus did not wait for Alfred to respond before bounding down the hall. This time was different, he could feel it. Damian was at the end of this journey. His boy would be there, standing next to Master like he always did. And his boy would smile, happy to see him.

The dog flew down the stairs and rounded the corner to see the food-giver standing outside of a closed door, a white glove over his eyes as he breathed deeply. Titus stopped to stare for a moment.

"Master is behind that door," Alfred said from underneath him. Titus had stopped questioning the speed of his small, young friend long ago. "Tread lightly, Titus."

Titus moved to the door. Food-giver did not look at him, which was odd. Food-giver always looked at Titus when he came by. He put his nose to the bottom of the door; he could smell Master inside. Titus slammed his paw against the door, hoping it would open. It didn't, so he kept hitting it, alternating between that and sticking his nose against the floor, whining.

"Master! It is only me!" he called as Alfred sat next to him and stared up at their food-giver, letting out light mews. "Please let me in! I just wish to see my boy!"

The door never opened. His master never said anything from inside. Titus huffed in annoyance, flopping to the floor, keeping his nose pressed against the door's gap as he let out a few more whines.

The food-giver sighed as he leaned down and plucked Alfred from the floor, "Titus, stop. Master Bruce does not wish to play with you at the current time."

The man reached for Titus's collar and, for once, Titus went on the defensive. His body tensed as he bared his teeth at his master's friend. "No! I do not want to play! I want to find my boy, and I want to find him _right_ _now_!"

His language did not translate to something the humans could understand, he knew that. But he was angry, and he wanted Food-giver to know it. The elderly man jumped back, clutching Alfred to his chest as Titus continued to shout.

Titus was scared. He was scared Alfred was right. He was scared something happened to his – _their_ – boy and there was nothing he could do about it. He was scared he was all alone. That his boy was scared and hurt and all alone.

Suddenly, he had to find him. He would not stop until he had found Damian once more. He took off through the manor once more, up the stairs, through the halls, in rooms, out of rooms, onto the balconies, through the gardens and by the cars.

_Where is my boy?_

"Damian!" he cried, collapsing on the driveway. He'd been running for hours. He could barely move any more, his legs hurt too much. "Damian, where are you? Please come home! Please! I…I do not wish to be alone!"

He lay there, watching the sun dip behind the trees. Neither Master nor Food-giver came to get him. Only Alfred. Poor Alfred who only knew their boy for a short time and already cared so much. The cat did not say anything when he appeared in front of him. He merely licked his forehead before curling up into a ball at Titus's side.

Darkness settled over the grounds, and the two animals remained on the driveway. No lights flicked on in the Manor or outside the house. The only light Titus saw was that of the moon and a spotlight from the city. A spotlight with a strange shape in it, waving around the sky. He only noticed it because his boy always pointed it out, getting excited when he saw it. That strange spotlight always made his boy happy, so it made him happy too.

But his boy was not here to see it. He was not here to be happy about it, so Titus could not be happy about it either. He began to whimper once more as the light went out, and that whimper quickly turned into howling. Alfred did not scold him. Neither did Food-giver when he finally came outside with a bowl of water and some treats. Master did not come, and Titus began to panic. What if Master went missing too?

"Titus, enough."

The dog immediately stood, relief washing through his system as he spun around. That was Damian! That was his boy! He kept turning, not able to find the source of the voice. He let out a few barks as his eyes searched the darkness of the house.

"It came from over there," Alfred muttered, also on his feet. The cat looked over the area once before darting across the yard, towards the far end of the driveway. Titus was already following before the cat called, "I see him!"

Titus did not. At least, not until they were right next to the boy. He was standing in the grass next to a motorcycle that had appeared earlier in the evening. Both Titus and Alfred had ignored it, but they both knew it belong to the one their boy called Grayson.

Something was different. Their boy was different. For one, Titus could see _through_ him. Was this a new skill? Had that Grayson person taught him this? And his touch was different. After Titus rammed into the boy's stomach, he could barely feel his tiny fingers scratching his ears. He also noticed Alfred's fur did not ripple as Damian pet his back.

"Alfred, quiet," their boy muttered as the cat began to purr loudly. "You'll bring Father or Grayson out here."

Titus snorted. No they would not. Neither Master nor the Smiling Man had noticed them for weeks. But he didn't care about them. His boy was here. That was all that mattered. Titus surged forward into Damian's stomach again, knocking the boy to the ground. He then threw his front legs across his torso, pinning him to the ground as Alfred rushed to Damian's face, licking him.

Damian laughed slightly, pushing Alfred back with both hands, running his fingers along his whiskers. Contrary to the earlier demand, Alfred's purrs got louder. Titus huffed in satisfaction, lying his head down on Damian's stomach. But there was no feel of his boy's shirt under his chin, no rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed. How…unusual.

Damian sighed, lying there with his animals, one hand petting Alfred, the other on Titus's head. He didn't say anything, just stared up into the sky. After a while, the front door to the manor opened, the Food-giver and the Smiling Man both standing there.

"Titus, here boy!" the elder man called. Titus just glanced at him, before focusing back on Damian.

"Is the cat out there, too?" he heard Grayson ask.

"Yes. It seems the two of them have…_bonded_ over the loss of…" his voice disappeared as he closed the door once more. Loss? What was he talking about? No one's lost anything recently. Unless he was talking about the squirrel that hopped the fence right as Alfred almost caught it a few weeks ago.

"Titus," Damian whispered. The dog immediately began thumping his tail. "You'll watch out for them, won't you? You and Alfred?"

Damian sat up, so, in turn, Titus did too. He leaned forward, licking Damian's face, pawing at his arm. Alfred mewed, leaping between the boy's legs. Damian reached up and grabbed Titus's face in both hands, leaning his forehead against the dog's. He and Titus stared into each other's eyes for a moment before he closed his. "Promise me, Titus. Take care of Father. Pennyworth. Grayson, if – _when_ – he stops by. Todd and Drake, too."

Damian's voice became a little shaky as he spoke. It took everything Titus had to not to whimper in concern.

"Make sure they're eating. Make sure they sleep – and I mean actually _sleep_. Not an hour on the couch, then a half hour in the car. Sleep in a bed, for extended periods. Don't let them stay in that cave all the time. Force them out, if you have to. Bark, howl, whine, bite for all I care. Get them out of that cave, out of the house. And in the daylight."

Titus licked at Damian's face in agreement. His tongue hit him, he saw it, but the flesh didn't have the same taste it always had.

"Make Grayson smile again. You and Alfred." Damian's eyes opened as he glanced down to the cat next to him. "Listen when Father speaks. Get him to understand that he is not alone, just because I am not here. He still has the two of you, if nothing else. And Bat-cow. Can't forget her."

Titus jerked back and tilted his head. Not here? What does he mean 'not here'? Damian ignored his confusion as he tapped Titus's nose. "I'll still be around most of the time. But no more fits like today, got it? You upset everybody doing things like that."

Titus lowered his head, ashamed. He doesn't like upsetting anyone.

"Just…wait for me, okay? I'll always come back. You know that, Titus."

Titus thumped his tail against the ground as he looked down at Alfred with a grin. Even the cat couldn't help but look content at that news.

"So no more howling at the Bat-symbol." Damian said. Titus looked back up to lick his boy's face, but found he was no longer there. "Now, go on, you two. Go get them."

At first, Titus took a step towards the bushes. Surely his boy was playing hide and seek. Then he shook his head. No, his boy said to go take care of the family. And Titus is obedient to his boy.

A whistle broke through the silence. Both Titus and Alfred spun towards the house to see their master standing there. Titus immediately noted how haggard the man looked. His shirt was crinkled and dirty. There were multiple bandages sticking on his skin. Even in the darkness, the dark bags under his eyes stuck out.

"Keep them alive, Alfred. Titus."

His boy's voice was unnecessary motivation, as he and the cat were already racing across the yard. As they reached the man, Titus jumped up, trying to lick his face. Alfred ran a few feet ahead, stopping and meowing until Bruce and Titus were following. Once inside, Bruce tried to shake the animals, turning towards the study. Titus grabbed his sleeve in his teeth, pulling him towards the stairs. Alfred was halfway up, again stopped, calling loudly.

Bruce finally caught on, and began to follow the animals willingly as they led him up the stairs. They passed Damian's room and Titus paused, seeing the Smiling Man inside. He moved towards the room before shaking his head.

One at a time. Grayson comes after Master.

They finally coaxed Bruce into his own room, where Titus body-slammed Bruce onto the mattress and then laid on top of him. Master tensed, moving to push Titus off of him, but Alfred hissed, needling the man's arm with his claws. Titus growled as well, until his master relaxed.

"Sleep!" he barked as Bruce's hand came up and pet his head gently.

"I miss him, too…" His master muttered. Alfred snuck underneath the man's arm and began to purr lightly. Bruce sighed sadly as he clamped his eyes shut, refusing to let any more tears fall.

It wasn't instantaneous. His master took a while to fall asleep. But he did eventually, his arm still wrapped around Alfred's tiny body. Titus didn't move until he heard – and felt – a light snort come from the human. Even then, he didn't go far, moving from Bruce's torso to his legs. As the sun slowly began to rise over the city, the Food-giver snuck into the room and closed the blinds, giving Titus a quick pat on the back on his way out. As the elder closed the door, Titus felt his ear twitch as Alfred gave a soft mew. He looked over towards the window to see his boy standing there. He beat his tail against the sheets in greeting as a warm smile spread across the child's lips.

"Good boys."


	3. Little Talks

**One thing I try to do with these stories is keep them as close to the comics as possible, in terms of details and overall themes. Thus, some of the 'bigger issues' as in this storyline won't be resolved within one chapter. If that explanation makes sense. If not, let me know and I'll try again.**

**Based very, _very_ loosely on 'Little Talks' by Of Monsters and Men.**

* * *

Damian would have been amused if it was someone he didn't like. Actually, he probably would have still found the situation funny if it _were_ someone he liked, just not these two. With these two, the situation was annoying.

He sighed as he sat cross-legged in his secret cove, high above the main floor of the Cave, watching as his father and brother occupied the same space, but lived on separate planes.

Bruce was at the computer, typing away at some file, like always. Dick was just walking around the Cave, first checking up on the cars, then over by the lockers and was now doing a long, slow pass by the memorial cases. He could have left a long time ago if he really wanted, but was helping with a case that involved the entirety of Gotham, thus needed information that only Bruce had. Bruce insisted he came by, implying he wouldn't give the information unless he did. That man sure knew how to manipulate.

Damian smiled as he heard a soft cry beside him, followed by a furry face rubbing against his knee. He smiled as he absently rubbed the cat's head. "So, what do we do, Alfred? Force them to talk about something other than the case?"

That would have been a challenge in itself. His father had shut down any and all emotions since his death, and barely spoke even when he needed to. Grayson's feelings of sadness and despair and betrayal all seemed to melt together, turning into a form of anger that Damian had never thought the man capable of. He had to admit that it…

Grayson's anger scared him.

"Bruce, do you have anything or not?" Dick snapped. Damian glanced over at him and immediately bit his lip. Grayson was standing at _his_ memorial; hand on the glass, eyes glued to the green domino mask, as if someone might glare back. It didn't take long to figure out that, when it came to Damian, Dick became most agitated.

"No, it seems I don't."

Dick spun around to face his mentor, "Are you going to let me look?"

Bruce didn't look at him. He didn't want to. He knew where his eldest was standing. "Why do you need to?"

"Just have to make sure you aren't withholding information or anything." Dick spat as he walked across the floor to his bike. "But you probably have like, twelve firewalls on that computer system of yours, right? So why even bother."

Titus, who had been lying by Bruce's feet, raised his head as Dick walked by. After a few seconds, he jumped up, following the man over to his bike. Dick looked down as the dog sat next to him, happily wagging his tail. He crouched with a smile and began scratching Titus's face as Bruce spoke. "Check into channel two on your communicator every so often just in case I-"

"Have you fed Titus recently?" Dick interjected, nuzzling his nose against the Great Dane's. "Or the other animals?"

Bruce did finally look at this comment. "Yes. I fed all of them a few hours ago."

"Good," he stated. "I don't think Damian would ever forgive you if you let his pets die, too."

Bruce instantly tensed, but didn't allow himself any other movement. Damian leaned back against the rocks, closing his eyes and muttering, "Don't do this, Grayson. Not now…"

"Dick-"

"Stop." Dick ruffled Titus's ears as he stood up, firmly placing his mask across his eyes. He swung his leg over the back of the bike and revved the engine. "When you get the evidence results, call Red Robin. He'll know how to reach me."

His father didn't say anything else as Nightwing drove away. He looked over at the memorial cases quickly before turning back to the computer. Titus lowered his ears as he glanced up to where Damian and Alfred were sitting. Damian shrugged before nodding towards his father as he stood. Titus huffed as he trotted back to the computer, placing his head on Bruce's lap.

"Give him one more hour, then force him upstairs, okay?" Damian said as he gave Alfred one more pat on the head. Titus barked quietly in reply, gaining a confused glance from Bruce, and Alfred purred as Damian began to fade away. "I should be back sometime tomorrow."

* * *

The apartment was dirty. Damian had never been to the location while he was alive, but he couldn't imagine it was like this before Dick's emotional tailspin. There were empty soup, soda and beer cans on all surfaces – tables, counters, nightstand and entertainment center. Napkins and tissues mixed together between couch cushions as dirty dishes were starting to pile up on the floor. And the _dust_.

Due to his ability as a spirit to disappear from one place and end up in a completely new one, he returned to the hardly-livable flat long before its tenant did. He couldn't just sit and wait, though. He'd become too restless. So instead, he tried to clean. While he could still touch and feel things, he couldn't exactly carry much weight. If he tried to pick something up, more often than not his hands would just go through the item. So he attempted small tasks, kicking a few cans out from under the couch, moving plates one by one so they were stacked on the table, where Grayson wouldn't be able to trip over them.

He was in the bathroom, tossing some tissues into the small trashcan, when he heard the door open and slam shut. It was moments like this he was relieved that no one could see him. They'd never have proof that he had jumped at the sound. Grayson was already slumped on the couch when he emerged a few moments later, hand over his face as he audibly inhaled.

Instantly, Dick's foot lashed out, kicking at the coffee table. Cans rolled off, clanking against the wooden floor, while the plates just shifted.

"What's happening, Damian?" the man whispered, not removing his hand from his face. "Everything's gone to hell."

He always did that – talking out loud in an empty room, tacking Damian's name on the end to make it into a conversation. It was weird, Damian thought, but it was better than his father's alternative: not saying his name at all.

"No, not everything, Grayson. I do believe it is just you," he sighed, moving slowly towards the sofa and sitting next to the older man. The cushions didn't shift. Grayson didn't move, save for letting his hand fall from his face. "And even then, I do not believe you're in any sort of purgatory. You'll get over this, just like everything else. It might just take some time."

Dick let out a humorless laugh as he focused on his knees. "You'd probably say something like, 'Grayson, pull yourself together. You're being stupid. Like Drake.'"

"I would not," Damian pouted, crossing his arms. "But even if I did, I would only say it because it was true."

"Yea, well. You try losing your little brother, Damian," he muttered as he stood, moving towards the kitchen. "Then tell me to pull myself together."

Damian rolled over, leaning over the back of the couch, watching as Dick searched his fridge, standing up again when he had found a beer. "You can't blame me for your current state just because you won't go talk to Father. Or anyone else, really. I get that he lied, I wasn't happy about it either, but I think that is the least of anyone's worries at this point, don't you think? It's dangerous to hold in your emotions, that's what you always told me, remember?"

"I got that game, you know," Dick said as he twisted the bottle cap off. "Showed up about a week after…well, you know. I took it to your gravesite. I couldn't…I can't have it around here."

"Figured," Damian replied. "You're just lucky Pennyworth found it before Father did. Otherwise you would have been getting some unwanted visits, I'd bet. Regardless of what you think or feel, Grayson, Father is concerned for you. He's concerned for all of you."

"I should ask Alfie if Titus got a hold of it. That'd be pretty bad, probably," Dick said quietly, the conversation suddenly becoming with himself.

"I assure you he didn't. It's in Pennyworth's quarters." Damian sighed as Dick sat back down next to him, taking a long swig of his alcohol, flipping on the television. He stared at his mentor for a moment, taking in the stench of alcohol, the 5 o'clock shadow and half-on-half-off, still bloody Nightwing uniform that he had yet to change out of. "You can't let this go on much longer, you know."

Dick did not continue the conversations, instead opting to flip through all of the channels twice before stopping on a marathon of black and white films. Damian sat with him throughout, watching as multiple calls and texts went unanswered on the phone sitting on the loveseat, apparently thrown there earlier in the evening. After a few hours, Dick drifted off to sleep, slowly falling to his side as he did. When he let out his first snore, Damian stood up, immediately pushing the empty bottle from his brother's hand, letting it bounce on the floor and roll towards the window.

Damian then went to the front door, pushing the many locks into the correct positions. Grayson seemed to have developed the habit of not locking his door at night anymore. As he did so, the phone on the loveseat went off again. As soon as he felt the door was secure, he retrieved the phone, going through the messages. Multiple calls from Gordon and Todd, texts from various female names that Damian did not recognize and two voicemails from Drake.

"Father might deserve being ignored by you, but none of these people do," Damian said to the sleeping man, frustration and concern growing. He pulled at the blanket hanging on the loveseat and turned back to his brother. "They merely wish to help you, Grayson. And remember, many of them have also gone through similar heartbreak as you recently. Don't make your scorn be another burden they have to bear."

Before Damian reached him with the blanket, Dick suddenly sat up, his bloodshot eyes open wide.

"_Damian!_" he screamed. For a brief second, the child wondered if, for once, he had gotten through. That his brother could hear him. The hope was dashed instantly as Dick's eyes flicked through the room, never focusing on him or anything else, before he collapsed backwards once more, his drunken eyes becoming misty. Just a dream, nothing more. "Damian…"

"Shut up, you idiot," Damian sighed, draping the blanket over the blubbering man. Dick didn't seem to notice the change as his eyes slowly began to close. "I'm right here."

Once Dick was snoring once more, Damian turned back to the phone, grateful that somehow, the technology still reacted to his touch. He pressed a few buttons and smiled when the phone vibrated, a sign that the signal had been sent out. He then sat on the floor next to Dick's head and waited.

It didn't take long. Batman never wasted time when he received a distress signal from one of his birds.

He came through the entrance to Nightwing's secret bunker, a batarang already in hand. After scanning the room for any immediate danger, his gaze locked onto Dick asleep on the couch. He sighed sadly as he pocketed his weapon and moved forward, cape smearing the top layer of dust on the floor. Damian stood while his father removed his cowl, gently rolling the most recent alcohol bottle towards the man's feet.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you his diet isn't much better," Damian said as Bruce looked down at the bottle. "Do something about this, Father. Preferably before he kills himself."

There was a light static in the air, and Bruce put his hand to his ear. _"Is he alright, Master Bruce? Did you find him?"_

"Yes, he's fine, Alfred," Bruce said gruffly, covering up any emotion that might have manifested. "Phone just malfunctioned. I'll take a look at it and then be on my way back."

Damian smiled. There was absolutely no way for that phone to malfunction, and his father knew that. Bruce had built it himself after all. There was another explanation for the call, it was only a matter of time before his father figured out the correct one. Hell, maybe he already had.

Bruce gently put his hand on the side of Dick's face, wiping away a few of the tears that leaked through before kissing his forehead. He then turned to the coffee table, picking up the stack of plates and the bottles and cans that had yet to fall off, and walked into the kitchen, placing the dishes in the sink and tossing everything else in the trash. As he walked back to the entrance of the bunker, he pulled the cowl over his face, glancing back into the room. He gave a quick nod before hitting a button on the other side of the wall, the bunker entrance closing.

"Well," Damian breathed, lifting a can as he looked back at the sleeping bundle. "That's a start, right?"


	4. Retrograde

**Wasn't expecting to write this one. The idea just kind of hit me. And then I went off the rails with it a bit.**

**Based on the feel (and a few of the lyrics) of the song 'Retrograde' by James Blake. Some references to (the preview of) _Teen Titans_ 18 and _Batman & (Red) Robin_ 19**

**Next will be Jason. Promise.**

* * *

Drake liked to take walks.

Whatever city he found himself in, whether by himself or with that team of his, he would just disappear. Regardless of weather, time of day, present danger, he would slip away and not be heard from for hours. Damian watched over and over as his team – the Teen Titans? – became frantic when they would find him missing, calling his phone but never getting an answer.

Idiots. Do they know nothing of their so-called friend?

Though, to be fair, Damian wasn't watching his brother close enough once on a solo-mission either, and the elder boy somehow got out of the hotel and a mile and a half out of town before the spirit found him again.

And he was just…walking.

That's all he ever did.

Walked.

He never took headphones, never spoke unless spoken to first, never even looked at a map – before or during his treks. He would just _go_. If he got to a crossroads, he would pause for a few seconds, looking at all possible directions and then just pick one. There was never any thought to his decisions, as evident in the one occasion where he ended up at a crack house that doubled as a strip club, and no explanation as to how he found the place when threatened by the bouncer's gun.

At first, Damian would wait for the boy back where his hotel room or the team was. Everyone needed alone time. Not even Damian was going to invade _every_ moment of his loved ones' lives. But after a while, he couldn't do it anymore. Any alone time at Grayson's, he'd clean the apartment. At the Manor, he'd play with his animals. There never seemed to _be_ downtime around Todd, but Drake? With Drake, the downtime was always there. There was nothing to clean, no animals to entertain. As he waited for his brother to return, it would be him and a room. The darkness would take over.

And his mind would wander. Memories, flashbacks mostly. The flash of that sword, his last words to Pennyworth. Dick's smiling face under the cowl, distorting immediately to an image of the man crying, sobbing, _screaming_ for everything to go back as it was. His father's breakdown, Titus scared and confused…

So he went with Tim. Sometimes he'd float above his brother, watching him move from street corner to back alley to large city parks. Most times he'd walk next to him, chatting away.

Because…it was odd. But Drake…he must have been more perceptive than the others. More _in-tune_ with the spiritual realm. He _did_ see Damian once. They had a conversation. A _full_ conversation, complete with hugs that neither of them could ever have done when the child was alive.

He didn't know if it was a fluke. Had Tim been ill at the time? Tired? Drugged? It seemed he never heard or saw Damian again, but that didn't stop the boy from trying. He would talk at his brother, poke his arm, dissipate from one place to another, always trying to be in his line of sight. But Tim never acknowledged it.

It was the same on this night. Tim had shown up in some nameless big city on a solo. He was distracted from the get-go, Damian knew, after a recent run-in with the Batman. Damian didn't know the details – he had been monitoring Todd at the time – but it had something to do with an attempt at his resurrection. Drake had stopped said attempt, and was currently suffering the consequences.

If their family wasn't completely broken before, it was damn near shattered now.

After settling into some fancy, penthouse hotel suite, Tim had raided the mini-fridge, pouring himself a glass of whiskey before going out and sitting on a chair on the balcony. He wasn't of age yet, but the burn on his throat helped ease the pain of everything else. And it's not like he was paying for it.

The sun set behind the skyscrapers and bridges, and Tim stayed on the balcony, rocking the glass loosely between his thumb and middle finger as the sky changed from red to black. Damian sat comfortably next to him for the duration, watching the blinking lights on the tallest buildings, listening to cheers and groans from the sports stadium a few blocks away. It had to be about midnight when Tim moved again. He cleared his throat as he set his glass on the floor and stood up, walking stiffly back inside. Damian followed, waiting next to the door as Tim grabbed a dark coat from his suitcase and slid it slowly over his shoulders.

Even though the seasons were shifting from winter to spring, the night air was still cold. Near freezing if you counted the wind chill. As soon as he walked out the hotel door, Tim popped the collar to his coat and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping to have as little exposed skin as possible. Damian walked next to him, deciding tonight wasn't one for words. Tonight was one for sticking near his brother, and getting his ass out of trouble when he stumbled down the wrong alley.

Tim was walking slowly, though. Not to say he was normally a speed-walker on theses excursions, but he seemed to be talking the phrase 'out for a stroll' a little too literally. Damian was finding it hard to not get too far ahead.

At the first crosswalk, they stopped, along with the group of about ten already standing there. After a few seconds, the lights changed and the group moved forward. Damian did too, but immediately found that Tim was not following suit. Instead, Tim was still standing on the corner, hands in his pockets, staring upwards, almost like he was in awe, his eyes darting back and forth. As Damian returned to his brother's side, a harsh wind suddenly blew through the intersection. A few nearby citizens let out squeals of amusement and annoyance. Tim merely closed his eyes, letting his hair whip around his face.

Damian rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

The wind died, and Tim moved forward. He weaved in and out of the groups of nightclub-goers and homeless, ignoring taunts from criminals and whistles from prostitutes. The only person he paid any attention to was an old woman who came bumbling out of a church as he walked by. She seemed like she was drunk, or not all there mentally. Tim only slowed his already sluggish pace to make sure she didn't fall flat on her face. When she made it down the stairs safely enough, Tim continued on.

"I'm sorry!" she called. Tim turned, an eyebrow raised. Damian crossed his arms, but did the same.

"Pardon?" Tim asked.

"For your loss," she breathed. Suddenly she looked down, making direct eye contact with Damian. "I'm sorry."

"Get out of here, lady," Damian mumbled as Tim immediately turned and continued to walk. He hated the mediums and the psychics, always thinking _he_ needed _their_ help. Please.

Tim seemed unfazed. Which was good. That's progress. Better than his father and Grayson.

They continued through the streets, about an hour later ending up in a park. Tim made his was over to a walking bridge that connected the city's North and East sides. About halfway across, Tim stopped, leaning on the railing, alternating between staring up at the lights or down into the dark waters. Damian mimicked the action, spending most of the time staring into the water, wishing he still had a reflection to stare at.

Like everything else Timothy Drake did, he stood there for over an hour in silence, patient and calculating, much like he used to do when Dick was Batman and their father was dead. That had changed after Bruce returned. He became more social, more sure of himself and what he was doing. He was his own person, with a support system never far away, and he was happy with that.

But then the Joker happened. Leviathan happened. Stopping Batman from resurrecting his child happened.

And suddenly that old, unsure Tim Drake was back.

He was second-guessing himself. After all, not too long ago, he was ready to give up everything for those who he had lost. The Kryptonian boy, Brown, his father. He had fought _Grayson_ over it. What right did he have to stop a father from trying to do the same for his son? For his baby?

"You did the right thing, Drake," Damian murmured, kicking a branch into the water. "One day, Father _will_ thank you for what you did."

Damian looked up at the city then. He'd forgotten how beautiful urban areas could be. The neon lights blinking all sorts of colors, the buildings of all shapes and sizes – each with a story of their own to tell. A history that no one knows, save for those who might have lived it. The mixture of people and music, coupled with those dark corners where it's too silent and too empty for such a big place.

That seemed to be a description of Drake as well. Such a history, no one would believe him, in or out of costume. Always sociable, always smiling, always the center of a large group of people. Always trying to ignore those dark areas of his mind.

Drake was a human city.

His older brother would have stood there all night, Damian figured, if it hadn't started to sprinkle rain. Tim sighed as pulled his coat collar tighter around his neck, heading back the way he came. Damian smiled at the annoyance while he trailed behind. It was a good thing Tim was intelligent. Damian would have never been able to find their way back to the hotel. But alas, his elder brother navigated the streets as if he lived there his whole life, like it was Gotham.

They passed the same prostitutes and drug-dealers, none of which remembered seeing Tim not two hours before. They even passed the same weird corner church, the strange old woman now sitting on the steps. Unlike the others, she did remember Tim, and opened her mouth to speak as he came up to her. Tim ignored her though, walking at a faster speed until he was two blocks away. Damian didn't blame him.

Once again, they were stopped at a crosswalk, along with the masses of late-night partiers. This time, Damian walked anyway. He never liked being stuck in big crowds. And Tim could deal with the two women currently trying to flirt with him for a few seconds. As he stood on the other side, waiting for his brother, he heard a bell being rung in the corner business. Seconds later, a group of people stumbled out the door, grumbling about something entitled 'last call.'

The group began to disband at the street corner. Some stood there, waiting to cross, others walked around the corner. It was a cluster of people. For a few seconds, he forgot it was the middle of the night, as the mob seemed the size of a noon lunch rush. Damian looked towards the sign. It still screamed 'DO NOT WALK' but some of the braver souls were taking their chances. No cars were coming anyway.

Damian looked through the surging crowds for Tim, hoping he was one of said braver souls who was too tired to waste time at a crosswalk for cars that weren't there.

Oh, Tim was one of the braver souls, alright.

So brave, he had stopped in the middle of the road and was staring ahead, his eyes wide and his mouth open in surprise.

Damian watched him for a moment, waiting for him to continue forward. When he didn't, Damian began to tap his foot on the ground in annoyance. After another moment or two, the child sighed loudly, rolling his eyes.

Mid-roll is when it hit him. He shifted his eyes back to Tim, realizing that his brother wasn't just _staring ahead_. He was staring ahead…_at him_.

Tim could see him.

It was like in the movies. The two of them stood there as people walked around them. Some people ran into Tim, jostling him this way and that, while others just walked through Damian. He wasn't actually there, after all. But neither of them noticed. The whole world was tuned out at that point. It was just the two of them.

When the crowd finally disappeared, Tim remained in the middle of the road, Damian still on the street corner. The rain had stopped, but the unnatural wind blew through the buildings once more, the only sound. Should he move? Say something? "Hey, thanks for stopping Father from bringing me back to life! It probably would have been awful!"

Yea, that wouldn't sound sarcastic at all.

Drake seemed to be having the same struggle. His mouth was moving slightly, Damian could see his tongue trying to make sounds against his teeth. But there were no words that either of them could say. The situation was what it was.

The wind blew harder, enough for Damian to actually feel it himself. As his hair fluttered slightly, he looked down the road, wondering how he would save his brother if a car actually came through. Tim watched him the whole time, not even blinking, afraid that if he did the child would no longer be in front of him.

Damian looked back at him and narrowed his eyes. "Get a move on, Drake."

He turned and began walking back towards the hotel. Within seconds, Drake was in step with him. Even though he kept his head straight and facing forward, Damian knew Drake was watching him out of the corner of his eye. That was fine. If that's what Drake wanted to do, then he could.

This meeting was much more tame than last time. Last time, Drake had been crying, yelling about how Damian should have never been in the costumed-lifestyle, should have never been appointed as Grayson's or his father's partner, should have been kept _safe_ and _protected_ because none of this was _his_ war but the adults were too stupid to see that and act on it.

This time, Drake seemed…content with the company. They just walked. Nothing else. Side by side, the two brothers walked through the silent city as though it were a normal occurrence. As though the younger of the two wasn't dead. With every step, it seemed all the built up tension was slowly melting from Drake's frame. Damian's unexpected presence was reassuring him that he had made the right decision with their father, regardless of how the man acted afterwards. No more second guesses.

They made it back to the hotel. Tim was greeted by the receptionist and he nodded back as he walked into the elevator. Damian stayed nearby. He didn't know how long Drake was going to be able to see him, but he was going to milk it for as long as possible. Drake was too, only looking away from him for a few seconds if he could help it. Up in the suite, Tim didn't take his jacket off, instead going to the bar and grabbing the whole bottle of whiskey, taking his place back on the balcony.

Tim poured himself another glass while Damian sat in the chair next to him. Again, silence reigned as the two watched over a city that wasn't theirs. Tim sipped at his whiskey as the sky began to change from black to light blue to a pale yellow. When the sun peaked over the horizon, Tim looked at Damian and smiled, holding up his glass in a mock toast. Damian returned the smile and inclined his head. On that cue, Tim brought the glass back to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid in one gulp. He leaned back in the chair and rocked his head to the side to look at his brother, but found he was no longer there.

And Tim just laughed.


	5. Figment

**So...this chapter did not go the way I planned it to. At all. **

**Based on a theory I heard once that when you see a dead person in a dream, that's actually their spirit contacting you personally. Spirits in dreams is a theme I will be revisiting throughout this collection of tales, with each of the Batboys and maybe some others. We'll see.**

**Sorry in advance if I got Jason wrong (because I know I did). Haven't gotten a chance to start reading _Red Hood and the Outlaws_ yet (though plan to with Tynion on the title now) and also, we don't actually know what happened to him in _Inc_ yet, so...I can't base anything he thinks/says on actual context as of right now, you know?**

**(By the way, I appreciate all of the support, readership and reviews you cool cats send my way. I hope to one day be able to reply to some of the awesome words y'all have said. Thanks so, so much.)**

* * *

The nightmares never stopped.

See, that's what they didn't _get_. Jason's anger? His 'craziness'? It wasn't reserved purely for his waking hours. Oh, no. Comparatively, his waking hours were _tame_.

The dreams were different enough that he couldn't claim them to be reoccurring, but he always knew what to expect. Laughing. Fighting. Blood. Yelling. A death or five – that was always the variable, it seemed. Who died.

Everyone in his life – good or bad – had been the victim more than once. On good days, it was the Joker who kicked the can, and they all celebrated with a giant chocolate cake in the park. But on most days, it was someone he cared for. A family member. Tim. Sasha. Bruce. Kory. Alfred. Roy. Barbara.

It had been Damian for the last three months.

What a little shit. Had to go and save the world in real life. Had to go and die in real life too.

Asshole.

But there was a silver lining to these nightmares. Lucid dreams, that's what Roy called them. Dreams where you know it's a dream. You know it's not real. Doesn't mean you stop doing anything in the dream, but Jason likened it to an escape button. Don't like what's happening? Simple. Somehow realize its lucidity. Makes the situations a lot less scary.

But Damian had to go and make everything difficult, just like always. How Dick put up with him all that time, Jason would never know.

There was no escape button to Damian's scenarios. Once the narrative became dire, Jason would begin his mantra, "This isn't real. This isn't happening. This isn't-"

And he'd have to stop. Because it was real. Damian was dead in reality as well as his subconscious. There was no 'wake up.' So, every dream, every nightmare, just kept getting worse. To the point Jason would wake up with physical injuries. Ones that weren't there the night before.

Dandy.

He sighed. It would be a lot to take in, for a normal human being. Good thing he wasn't one of those. Jason just wished he could remember all of this when he needed to. Like right before he fell asleep, or perhaps right when the dream started.

Like now.

He was in a desert, it looked like. Once again, separated from his team. Isn't that a shocker. So, like every dream he could never remember at the start, he began to walk forward.

"That's your problem, you know," a voice came from the side. Jason turned to see a leafless tree. Since when was there a tree there? Never mind that, since when was a snotty ten-year-old boy sitting in it? The boy was hanging upside down, like an obnoxious trapeze artist they both knew. "You always start moving."

"What?" Jason sighed. Jesus, where was Alfred when you needed him. It was not Jason's turn to babysit this brat.

"Every dream starts out the same. You end up somewhere, you look around, then you _move_ around. If you just stay put for the duration of the dream, none of those bad things would happen to you," Damian replied, crossing his arms. He was trying to look tough, but it was kind of impossible. All the blood rushing to his head just made him look sunburned. Or embarrassed.

Jason started to smile before the boy's words sunk in. "Wait, I…how do you know this is a dream?"

"Multiple reasons. One, this species of tree doesn't does not grow in desert habitats. Two, the Bat symbol on your chest is green. And three," Damian flipped out of the tree, landing expertly on his feet as he put his hands on his hips. "I'm dead."

Jason looked down at his chest, seeing the proof of the kid's words. It wasn't green, it was _lime_ green. Talk about a fashion faux pas. Then he looked back up at his brother, instantly seeing blood pour from the child's chest, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, torso and calf. Dried tear tracks ran down his cheeks, a sudden anomaly against the blood and dirt on the rest of his face. Jason could feel his eyes widen as they flinched from wound to wound, taking it all in. What happened? Why did no one save him? How could _Bruce_ not - !

Jason blinked. And it was all gone. It was just Damian standing before him once more.

"You're…dead," Jason said slowly, taking a step forward.

Damian smiled, but it was sad, like he's dealt with this before. Of course, Jason mused, maybe he had. "Yes, Todd. I am. But it's okay. Really."

Jason snorted, "How on Earth is this-"

"No. No questions. Not until later," Damian said as he held his hand up to Jason. "You always seem to ask stupid questions in the early moments. Let's go."

"Go where?" Jason asked, but followed his younger brother anyway.

"To your destination. It's right over there, if I'm correct," Damian said. "After that you can ask your questions."

"Okay…" Jason said. They walked in silence for a few minutes, passing the strangest landmarks. Tim in a ballerina costume. A cat with a Joker mask. A dancing hot dog. Bat-cow. "So, if I can't ask questions, can I make statements?"

"If you wish."

"Will you inform me if I'm wrong or right?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Jason said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He pursed his lips as he thought. "We've done this before."

"Correct."

"Many times."

"Yes."

"But dreams suck, so I don't remember."

"Most of the time, no. But sometimes."

There was a screech up ahead, followed by screams. Jason immediately took off towards the sounds, Damian trailing closely behind. It was instincts for both of them. As they neared, they broke off, each beginning their own battles with the unknown enemies, but never hesitating to interfere with each other's. Neither of them so much broke a sweat, though they both carried grins as they continued their conversation.

"You keep dying in my dreams." Jason said as he ducked a punch, watching as Damian flipped over him, kicking the demon-looking monster in the throat.

"Recently, it seems."

"For…months. Three months, if I have it right. You've been the only casualty every time."

"True." Damian suddenly had a sword. Two, as he tossed one to Jason, who began beheading monsters himself.

"It's some sort of…guilt. Coping."

"Perhaps. You did not attend the actual…event, so I can't say."

Jason stabbed a winged creature, turning to look at his brother as he pulled his sword back. There was something growing in his mind, his last statement had been proof of that. Where did he get three months? It was fuzzy, but…

"Grayson was there."

The child threw out a kick before stopping, staring at the ground. "Yes. In a way."

They were in a field of defeated monsters now, victorious. Two children of war, two warriors – who's only bond now was that they both died for a cause. Batman's cause.

"Bruce was there."

Damian looked up, plopping the tip of his sword against the ground. "No. Not until…after."

Jason winced. "You…you died alone."

"Yes."

"We know who-" As he began to speak, it was like his brain had been electrocuted. Suddenly, he remembered. He remembered _everything_.

"Oh _God_."

Damian continued to stare at him, smiling slightly again. A grim smile this time, though. "There it is."

Jason felt his head shaking. Not possible. There's no way that _she_ would…!

"Talia killed you."

"Indirectly."

"The family's a mess."

"I know. That's why I stuck around," Damian said with a soft laugh. He looked into the sky as he sighed. "…I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For…everything, I guess. For causing all of you such pain, both in life and death."

"Please," Jason waved the statement off. "Pain? Getting hit by you was like getting hit by an angry kitten."

Damian smiled again, and suddenly Jason could see Bruce standing there. A sad lonely human, feeling the need to take the world on his shoulders. "You can take your helmet back by the way. It's on the shelf by the fireplace in my room."

"Don't need it," Jason said as he slowly made his way forward. "So. Three months. How many times have you told me that?"

"Whenever I'm here," Damian shrugged, ignoring Jason's progress towards him. "However, that isn't as often as I would have liked. Father and Grayson are in need of more attention than I previously thought. Not to mention Titus and the animals."

"You say that as though…" Jason scrunched up his face. Nah, that couldn't be the case.

"As though what?"

"As though you're _not_ just a repetitive figment of my imagination."

"Well, to be fair, I never said I _was_ in the first place," Jason scowled as he saw Damian trying to suppress the manic grin that threatened to take over his face. "And the others' dreams aren't nearly as violent as yours. Where else would I keep up with my training?"

Jason stared down at his brother, who had given up pretending to brood. Jason couldn't help but mirror the boyish grin as he latched his arms around the child in a tight hug, laughing as Damian tried to get away. "You're an idiot, kid."

Damian stopped struggling after Jason spoke, instead giving in to the gesture, leaning his head on Jason's chest. He didn't hug the man back; he just stood there, letting Jason have his moment with the dead. And Jason knew what that was like.

"Three months. Every night, you've died," Jason muttered. It was a surreal thing to say. He hadn't even quite accepted that this was a dream yet. Not when the blood and guts on the sword looked real. Not when the weight of the ten-year-old in his arms felt real. The weight of a living, breathing ten-year-old. "Will you die again this time?"

"I do not know. It would be a first if I didn't," Damian said.

"How many times have we had _this_ conversation?"

"Never."

Jason looked down at the boy. "What?"

Damian glanced up, "You normally wake up as you're walking towards me. Or a monster we missed pops up as you're doing so and kills me. We've never gotten to this point."

"…Oh."

"So, at the risk of one of those outcomes, could you please let me go now? I do believe you've been hugging me for two hours."

"Right," Jason released the boy and took a step back. Damian cracked his neck and stretched his arms as Jason wiped suddenly dried gore off of his clothes. It's a dream world, of course a few minutes would be two hours. "I'm sorry. For all of this. Not just the hug. Just for…all of it."

"Not your fault. Not much you can do about it at this point anyway."

Jason shrugged. "…Well, I haven't exactly perfected the art of waking myself up without fear and death and weird emotional distress so…what do you want to do?"

"You know that tea Pennyworth always gives us? That tea we never actually drink because it's disgusting anyway?" Damian asked. Jason nodded. "I want that. Let's go find some."

"Sounds like a plan." And the two set off, going farther into the desert. Jason glanced up as they walked, and saw Bat-cow jump over the moon, then start grazing on a cloud. "Hey, Damian?"

"Hm?"

"Will I remember this one in the morning?"

"I don't know. Do you want to?"

Jason slung his arm around the boy's neck. "Yea, kid. I think I do."


	6. Spark

**I'm sure a few of you might be expecting a Bruce-centric chapter soon, but I'm hesitant to write it until I see what goes on in _Batman&Robin_ first.**

**Also, I went into this chapter with no plan, so it kind of just took on a mind of it's own. Emotional!Dick is one of my favorite things to write and will probably continue to be so as the series goes on. His road to recovery will be a long one. ****And Jason is a jerk and swears a lot.**

**This isn't based on much, though when I started it, I was in the mindset that it was going to be a more 'happy' chapter. I don't think it turned out that way, but if you need some supplemental listening, go the route of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World' by the Great IZ.**

* * *

It wasn't _always_ doom and gloom, at least not for his brothers. Grant it, those days were very few and far between, but they were there. And maybe that's what made them special. Made Damian's after-life mission all worth it.

The archer and the alien would stick close to Todd. Roy would take him to a pub and they would drink the night away. Kory would be their designated care-taker, mothering them when it was clear they'd had too much. But they would laugh and shout together, switching from playing pool, watching sports on the large screens at the bar, or sometimes even dancing with each other.

Drake would continue his late-night walking, but had recently been following it up with a single glass of whiskey, sipping on it for hours before raising it in the sky and gulping it down. Much like the last time he saw his little brother. It was a comfort, and it was no danger to himself, so Damian allowed it to continue. That along with his phone calls to Grayson.

The two had always been close. Damian found that after his arrival, Grayson and Drake's relationship became strained, but the love was always there. They had begun to somewhat reconcile with each other after Bruce returned but had never quite reached the closeness they had before. Damian was never sure as to why, maybe it was due to that fact that Drake was coming into adulthood, still riding the reality that he could be his own man if he wanted to be.

Drake knew how much Grayson cared for Damian. And Drake knew better than anyone how much losing the child – both to Bruce as a partner and to death – had broken him.

So he called his older brother almost daily. They talked for hours, most days about nothing. But that was okay, because at least Grayson would smile. At least Drake could get him to laugh. To _speak_. To not hold it all inside like their father was doing.

Damian always enjoyed being present during these calls. They were relaxing. Stupid. Educational. Emotional. But in a good way. Sometimes during a call, he'd even teleport himself between the line, going from Grayson's apartment to whatever random country Drake was in and back again. Sometimes, the calls would go so long that Grayson would get drunk and sober up between the hellos and goodbyes. Sometimes, Drake called while he was in costume, tracking down bad guys.

"What'd you do this week, Dick?"

"Nothing, really."

"Nothing?"

"Well, Babs came by on Tuesday. We went to the theatre downtown. Saw that musical they've been advertising on the news for the past month."

"Yea? Any good?"

"It was alright."

"Let me guess, it wasn't chock-full of '80s rock like you wanted, right?"

"…You know me so well, Timmy."

Sometimes both of the men would cry, cursing the circumstances, cursing Bruce, cursing their lifestyles. Sometimes, the two of them would pick a movie and watch it together over the phone if they both had access to it. Other times Drake would read the local newspaper of wherever he was, and Grayson would just comment on the stories.

It was mundane, that's what was so wonderful about it. Normalcy. That's what they all needed. Something…constant. Something not life-threatening.

Damian would be mentioned at least once a conversation. And the day Grayson said his name as he was laughing, and didn't immediately go into sad silence, was when Damian realized that this was their escape from it all. The magic of the simple.

But Damian was still concerned. For as much as Drake and Todd moved around with their teams, they still didn't exactly go anywhere. Drake would only leave the base for business, never going out with the Titans for celebrations after the mission was completed. And even Todd's drunken escapades only happened once, maybe twice, a month, when Harper couldn't stand to see his best friend so…apathetic. Grayson only ever went out if the likes of Barbara or Victor Stone forced him to. They were still closed off. Still resistant to life outside the remnants of their family. And even that was iffy at best. Grayson and Drake only talked on the phone. They never visited each other, or even made a video-call. Todd was lucky if he ever got a text from them, and vice versa.

No one made contact with Bruce.

Damian continued to watch them. They needed a push, something to get the ball rolling. He wished he could just tell them that they were all being stupid, that they all needed to keep going with their lives, but he couldn't. He had yet to figure out a way to have Drake see him at all times, and was afraid if he tried any sort of 'message from the beyond' thing with Todd and Grayson, then they would regress into their lingering despair and anger.

They needed that spark. They needed to see each other.

So Damian would make sure they did.

One night, after Grayson fell asleep on the couch for the fifth time that week, Damian snuck his way back to the Cave. His father wasn't there, but that was nothing new. His Father was rarely around the grounds anymore. Even Pennyworth had a hard time keeping track of the man.

Titus was sitting by the computer when Damian appeared by the lockers. The dog raised his head and thumped his tail as the boy walked towards him, holding his finger to his lips.

"Hey, boy. How've you guys been?" Damian muttered as he pressed a few buttons on the keyboard. There was a low moo from the other side of the Cave. Titus barked. Damian couldn't stop the smile from his face as he scratched the dog's head. "That's good to hear. Want to help me fix Grayson and the others?"

Titus stuck his tongue out as he jumped up to place his paws on the computer bank. Damian laughed as he continued to hit keys, not looking away from the screen until there was a loud cycle of beeps from the machine, indicating his mission accomplished.

Damian sighed as he leaned back in the chair. Titus looked at him curiously, nudging at his knee. The child looked at him. "Wanna go for a walk, Titus?"

* * *

Jason realized as he drove that, for all the years he'd spent in Gotham, he'd never been to this side of the city. Or, rather, he'd never been in this forest on this side of the city. But then again, it was the middle of the night and everything was pretty damn dark. So what did he know.

He was only here because Tim anyway. Kid had sent an assistance call earlier in the evening. Apparently some hikers were lost up here thanks to Two-Face and that weird coin of his. Also a few bricks of C-4. Lost hikers and C-4. Bad combo. Jason understood the request.

At first he wondered why Tim didn't contact Batman or Nightwing for this. But then he remembered. Bruce was a lying piece of shit and Dick was in the middle of a mental breakdown over…_that_. So he was kind of the only choice. They didn't call Tim a genius for nothing.

Still, he didn't really want to be here. He didn't know if they had caught on, but he was kind of avoiding the 'family.' But, knowing Tim, he knew that. It was probably another reason he called Jason.

But the kid was really pushing Jason's patience. First sending out the signal, complete with coordinates of where to meet, but not answering any calls after that. Come on, Red Robin. Don't be an asshole.

The GPS in his bike beeped, indicating he was about a mile away from his destination. Jason sped up, already deciding that if Tim wasn't standing there waiting for him, he was immediately turning around and heading back to his safe house. Or going to Tim's to punch him in the face whenever he showed up. He hadn't quite gotten that far into Plan B yet.

As he neared the coordinates, however, he found that Plan B didn't look like it was going to be needed. Someone was standing up there. But they looked a little too tall to be Tim. Hey, if it was one of the hikers already, then more points to Jason.

But it wasn't one of the hikers. It wasn't Tim either.

It was Dick.

Once Jason was in the clearing, he slowed his bike, watching as Dick – not dressed as Nightwing – slowly turned to look at him. Jason didn't know what he would expect Dick to look like when he saw him, but it sure as hell wasn't as a ridiculously hollow shell of himself. He looked thin – _too_ thin. And the light of the full moon showed his eyes to be dark circles, like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"Jason?" Dick called.

"Yup."

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask you the same," Jason muttered, turning off the bike and heading over to his elder. "Where's your gear? Your mask?"

"Why would I have my mask?" Dick asked. "Besides, I…don't go out as much as before."

"I've noticed. Why not?"

Dick grimaced, turning his head away. "Because last time I was…like _this_, I almost beat a few petty thieves to death."

"What stopped you?" Jason asked, crossing his arms.

"Damian."

"Oh."

"And with…with him not here," Dick's voice became shaky, a little unsure. "I'm afraid of what I might do."

"Yea, I get that," Jason said quickly. He wasn't going to put Dick through a conversation he's clearly had many times before. "But back to the point. Why're you out here in the middle of the night?"

Dick looked back at him. "Tim called."

"Called? Little jerk, I only got a text."

"Well, yea, okay. He didn't call, I got a text, too. Said he was in trouble?"

"…That's not what mine said. Something about lost hikers."

"Uh-oh."

Jason sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Any idea what's going on?"

"None."

"Jason, there you…Dick?" a voice called from a nearby hiking trail. In the dim light, the two could see Tim walking towards them, also not in any sort of costume. "What the…what are you doing out here?"

"Why'd you tell us two different things?"

"I…didn't?" Tim said slowly, holding out his phone. The message claimed to be from Jason, that his bike had broken down, and he couldn't reach Roy or Kory to get him back to Gotham.

"You don't think this is one of Bruce's schemes is it?" Dick snapped, his voice immediately angry.

"Now, hang on, Dick. I'm sure it's…something," Tim said, whipping some sort of tablet out of his jacket pocket. As a reflex, Jason pushed his jacket back, pulling out one of his guns while he looked around the dark trees. "The IP address claims it's from the Manor grounds, but I just spoke with Alfred about an hour ago. He said he hasn't seen Bruce in two weeks. And I'm sure Alfred would have said if it was him, so…"

"Awfully specific to be a computer malfunction," Jason said quietly, still surveying the trees.

"Others have access to that computer. Clark, Babs, Vic…" Dick trailed off as he stuffed his hands in his pocket, walking towards the cliff side on the far end of the clearing. His shadow was long and deformed in the setting moonlight. It was much later in the night than they all thought. "Just ask around. I'm sure it was one of them."

"Dick…" Tim started.

"Look, if it was just a prank, then none of us have a reason to really be here. We can all go home," Dick said. Jason felt an air of uneasiness around the older man. He was suddenly acting twitchy and uncomfortable. Dick looked back over them. "I know you two aren't really…_based_ here anymore. So if you need a place to stay you can…come stay at my place. Or I can drop you at the Manor. Or whatever."

Tim and Jason glanced at each other. Clearly Dick was a lot worse off than either of them thought. Jason sighed, "You don't have to get over it, per say. I would never tell you to do that. But you can't keep acting like this."

"Get over what?"

"Don't you _dare_ play dumb with me, Dick." Jason hissed. "Because I will punch you. In the face. As hard as I possibly can."

Dick was silent for a few minutes. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "It's more regret than anything."

"There was nothing you could have done. You were _unconscious_…" Tim started.

"No, not…not then," Dick quickly corrected. "Before that. I took him for granted. I didn't spend the time I should have with him. After Bruce took him – I mean, after he _rightfully_ went to live with Bruce, I never went and just…hung out with him. Not like we used to."

"That was probably for the better, too," Tim said, gently. "If you had been there all the time, he and Bruce would have never learned to get along. He would have never learned to adapt to new people and fighting styles. It was good for him. He never held it against you, I don't think."

"I never told him I loved him, Tim," Dick answered. "I told you and Jay all the time. Hell, I told Bruce and Alfred all the time, too. Sometimes Damian was even there when I said it to them. But I never said it to _him_. How could I do that?"

"I'm sure he knew," Jason said. "Otherwise he wouldn't have put up with you."

"But it's not the same, and you know that," Dick almost sounded like he was pleading.

"So why didn't you?" Jason asked.

Dick looked over the city below them still bright and bustling, regardless of the hour. "Maybe because I developed that stupid parents' mindset. Your kids are supposed to out-live you. Parents aren't supposed to bury a child."

Jason felt himself wince.

"I guess I just…expected him to always be there. And any time I saw him, he was either angry or ridiculously focused on something. And I'd always think, 'I'll tell him next time I'm over' or 'I'll tell him on his birthday, Christmas, New Year's, whenever.'" The acrobat sighed. "And I always thought, if for some reason I never did tell him, it would be because I kicked the bucket. Not him. _Never_ him."

The three of them stood in silence for a few moments of nostalgia. Damian waited from his perch right beneath the cliff side. He couldn't risk just standing there, if for some reason God or whoever wanted to be a giant tool at that moment and let Tim see him. This needed to be a moment between three living brothers. And after Grayson's admission, he didn't want Tim to oust him as being around anyway. That could result in permanent damage.

"He was eleven. Jesus Christ, he was just eleven years old."

Of course he knew Grayson loved him. The man was an idiot for thinking he didn't.

"You said he stopped you from killing those criminals before," Jason said slowly. Damian leaned his head up, hoping to see one of them if they came into view. "Do you think he'd be real happy with how you're acting right now? How any of us are acting right now?"

Jason didn't need to explain his statement. They all knew how differently they'd been dealing with life since everything calmed down. How distant. And they all knew it wasn't good for them. They just couldn't stop.

"I know for a fact he'd want to stab me in the chest. Multiple times," Tim half smiled as he spoke. Dick couldn't stop himself from following suit.

"And he'd have claimed the attack was justified afterwards," Dick chuckled. "But to answer your question, no. He would be furious with me. And then he'd probably take it out on the two of you. But I am trying. I'm trying to be the person he wanted me to be again. It's just…harder than I expected."

"Then let us help you," Tim said. "And then, you can help us too."

"I never said I needed any help," Jason replied. Tim and Dick just stared at him. "But I'm not saying I won't take it if you two are going to give it."

"It sucks, but we don't exactly have Bruce to depend on anymore. We only have each other," Tim said. "And right now, we have to make the best of what we've got, even though that's not much."

"It'll take a while," Dick sighed. "_I'll_ take a while."

Tim smiled. "And we'll stick with you every step of the way."

Jason nodded. "Just like the demon spawn did."

Dick laughed. A genuine, heartfelt laugh.

Jason walked over to him and slapped him on the arm. "See what happens when you leave your house, Goldie?"

Suddenly, a bark echoed through the clearing. Tim immediately ran to the other two, flicking on a flashlight as an animal's whining took over the silence. He ran it around the clearing and, upon finding nothing, flashed it down the cliff. The light landed on a pair of large dark eyes.

"Titus?!" Dick called. The dog jumped up against the side of the cliff in recognition, but it was too steep. He couldn't climb it.

"I told you to stay quiet until I gave the signal," Damian scolded from his vantage point. The dog was to be a trump card of sorts, just in case his brothers were too stubborn to open up, it would give them a reason to bond. Save your dead brother's dog, talk about your issues. Thus far, the tactic had been unneeded. At least Damian thought so. Apparently his dog didn't. Titus ignored his words, continuing to whimper in the others' direction as they moved to find a way down to him. "You were never in any danger, you big baby."

Somehow, Damian had a feeling Titus already knew that.

He watched as Jason and Tim went back to the bike and took off down the road while Dick carefully made his way down the rocks. As he passed near where Damian was sitting, Titus let out another bark.

"Shush!" Damian said sharply. "If you distract him, he'll fall. Stay focused, Titus."

"It's okay, buddy. I'm here," Dick cooed as he continued his trek. When he was close to the bottom, he jumped to the ground, expertly landing the five-foot leap. Titus immediately ran towards him, licking at his arms and neck. "What're you doing all the way out here, hm? Did you sneak away when Alfie wasn't looking?"

Titus looked up towards where Damian was sitting. Damian pointed to Grayson, "Keep your attention on him. The mission is to take care of him and the other two, not me."

Titus immediately leapt towards Dick again, throwing his paws on the man's shoulder and launching at his face. Dick smiled as he tried to keep the dog back.

"Alright, Titus. I said take care of him, not eat him."

Titus sat back slightly, but still wagging his tail so much his whole body was moving. Dick held his smile as he pet the dog's face, staring into his big brown eyes. The smile became sad after a moment and he couldn't stop his eyes from falling. Titus licked his lips as he hit Dick's shoulder with his paw, trying to regain his attention. Dick didn't look up right away, but when he did, the smile was back. He stared at Titus for a second before he leaned in to the dog's face.

"I love you, Damian."

Titus took the opportunity to lick Dick's nose. Dick laughed again, wrapping the giant dog in a hug. As the two of them sat, waiting for Jason and Tim, Damian made his way down the cliff. For once, Titus didn't immediately look at him. He kept his focus on Dick, attempting to lick the man's ear.

"I know, Grayson. I know."

Jason honked his horn as he and Tim came down the road, and was forced to slam on the brakes when Titus came barreling towards him. As Titus tried to tackle Tim from the bike, Jason looked over at Dick.

"Should we call Alfred and tell him we'll bring the bear home soon?" he asked.

"Who said we had to take him back at all?" Dick said. "I'll call him and tell him that Titus is with me. I'm sure he won't mind if Titus visited my place for a few days."

Jason smiled and rolled his eyes. "Does your offer still stand, Goldie? Because I really don't want to drive back to the safe house tonight."

Dick threw his arm around Jason's neck as they watched Titus throw Tim off the back of the bike, and then run around to start licking his forehead.

"Yea, it still stands," Dick sighed, relaxing his weight against his brother's shoulder as Titus sat on Tim's chest, trying to lick his raised hands and face at the same time. "Let's go home, Jason."


	7. The Broken One

**Remember how pleased you all were that I finally made a semi-happy chapter? Yea...sorry. We're going back to the angsty stuff. (And don't be fooled - Dick still isn't going to be getting much better. Working on a ridiculously dark chapter about him so...sorry months in advance.)**

**Not much into her music, but this is based off the lyrics of Rihanna's 'Stay' that go:**_ 'Funny, you're the broken one, but I'm the only one that needed saving.' _**But I guess the whole song kind of fits the theme, too. You decide.**

**Kind of became a prequel to the 'Stages of Grief' storyline thing going on in _Batman&Robin_ on accident. If you squint real hard.**

* * *

Bruce paused in his typing. His heart was pounding, his chest ached. Breaths were short and staccato, barely enough to maintain his body. He was thankful he wasn't standing, otherwise there was a high chance he'd have collapsed with the sudden light-headedness.

It wasn't the first time this had happened, this feeling of his heart stopping or his body just shutting down. Nothing life threatening, he found, but it was happening with alarming frequency.

The wheels squeaked quietly as he pushed the chair back from the computer bank and spun it around to face the rest of the Cave. After a moment of attempting deep breaths, his heart rate returned to normal, and oxygen came easier to his lungs. But his chest still ached. Bruce sighed and closed his eyes, covering them with his hand.

He hoped for darkness. The ability to not see anything or anyone. Just…nothing. It never worked. When he closed his eyes, images would create themselves. The people he failed to save. Jason. Criminals who got the better of him. His parents. Blood, screams, agony. Darkseid. Friends looking at him with a mixture of pity and disappointment. _Damian_…

Oh god, Damian.

His eyes began to sting as his other hand came up to his face. How, _how_ could he let this happen?!

His son. His baby. His light. His happiness.

Bruce's breath hitched again. The ache rippled through his body as his heartbeat rose once more. Thinking about Damian caused this recent medical condition. Or really, thinking about the _absence_ of Damian.

Others would disagree. They would say that Bruce was saving the boy. Making him a better human, protecting him from the fate that waited for him with his mother. But that wasn't true. If anything, _Dick_ had saved the child from that.

No. It was the other way around. Damian was saving _him_. Pulling him out of the darkness like none of the others could, no matter how hard they tried. Damian was showing him that Bruce Wayne didn't have to be the mask. That he could be _more_ than just the Batman.

And he'd let him down.

He let him die at the hands of a monster.

Alone.

"Alfred."

The family shattered after the loss of their youngest member, and wasn't that ironic? Considering half of them hated the child on a normal day, but maybe that was it. He was a _child_. An innocent bystander, who had no choice in his upbringing, no choice in his relatives. A child who was only doing what he felt was right. What Bruce _told_ him was right.

Anything to make Bruce proud.

Bruce felt his fingers begin to shake in rage.

How quickly darkness can swallow the light. The light that's dimming, but shouldn't be, _but it is_ because-

_You killed him, Bruce. You killed your son. What a hero you are._

A breath shuttered through his lips as he felt a weight plop onto his lap. Bruce moved one hand away and glanced down at the small black-and-white bundle staring up at him with wide, yellow eyes.

"Alfred." Bruce whispered as the cat waved its tail in the air. He dropped one hand onto the cat's head, petting him slowly. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't go back. He couldn't let the darkness back in. All those years of it…it was suffocating. But no one could alleviate this. No one but…

Jason came back. Connor Kent came back. Clark came back. Hell, _he_ came back…

Bruce lifted the cat up to his face. Alfred blinked slowly at him before meowing softly.

"I'll get him back. If it's the last thing I do, I'll get him back."

* * *

Damian was less than pleased to find out that of all things spirits _can't_ do, crying was not on that list.

He sat on the empty side of his father's bed, legs curled up to his chin, as the man lay next to him, only asleep because Pennyworth added a sedative to the IV drip currently attached to his arm.

It wasn't fair.

"I'm sorry, Father," Damian sobbed. "_I'm sorry_."

The man was breaking. There was no other way to put it. He was being torn apart and it was all Damian's fault. He'd left him. Without a family, without a partner.

Alone.

And after all his father had done for him, too. Gave him a family, a home, a purpose. Protected him through everything, absolutely _everything_. Damian was a monster, and Bruce loved him anyway.

This was different than the others. Different than Grayson. Both of his mentors had been crushed by his departure, but Damian never doubted that they would heal. Eventually, they wouldn't feel the burdens of 'what-if?'

But Grayson didn't shun the help. He welcomed the comfort from his brothers and friends. Not like that was making him any better right now – he was still borderline recluse, still rarely went out as Nightwing – but he was accepting those who wanted to try to fix him. His father, on the other hand, was barely even speaking to Pennyworth. He'd stopped summoning the others to cases within Gotham. Even the Justice League was starting to get the cold shoulder. While time was supposed to heal wounds, it seemed his father was slipping further into misery.

It was baffling. Damian was only one of the many lost boys rescued by the Batman, what made his life and death any different from, say, Todd's? Yes, the biological relations, but he was forced into his father's life, not chosen. And Damian had died ignoring a direct order. He had been defeated due to his own weakness and stupidity. If anything, Damian should be a wreck, being forcefully removed from his father, not the other way around.

Damian rubbed at his eyes, trying to dry the tears. His grandparents were wrong – being unseen and unheard would not drive him crazy. Seeing his family torn, his brother destroyed, his father broken potentially beyond repair and knowing it was all his doing. _That_ is what would make him crazy.

His father twitched in his sleep, and his breathing became short, his body tense. He began to mutter incoherently, clearly distressed. Damian leaned his head on his knees, clenching his teeth. No more tears. He had no right to cry, not when he did this to the people he loved.

Bruce let out a choked noise and sighed, his body quickly relaxing. Damian watched him for a few moments, noticing his father's eyelids twitching as tears escaped from them. Immediately, Damian uncurled himself and lie down next to his father, head on his shoulder, hand on his chest.

"It's okay, Father," he whispered. "I'm here. You're all right. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here…"

_And I'll always be here._


	8. Ignorance

**Written on a flight at 8a in the morning, on three hours of sleep, and being stupidly inspired by _Li'l Gotham_ 11. Because Colin and Damian are tiny boyfriends, according to the internet. One thing I can't even disagree with, let's be honest.**

**Based on absolutely nothing. Consider it a vignette of sorts, I guess.**

* * *

Colin was never told.

It made sense, in way. After all, everything happened so fast. But still, Damian couldn't help but be a little annoyed at his family for the slip-up. It was his only friend outside of the family. Grant it, he's not sure his father knew about Abuse, but he thought at least Grayson would have made his friend a priority.

But at the same time, Colin never asked questions. It's not like he and Damian saw each other regularly enough that months between meetings seemed abnormal. Though Damian could tell he was starting to get suspicious. Not seeing each other was one thing, Robin not being seen by anyone was another.

In any case, the ridiculous little redhead continued with his daily routine, no earthly idea that his friend was killed, and brutally so. No clue that some of the heroes who inspired him were completely shattered.

And that's what made Damian frequent his side of town. Sometimes his family became too angsty, even for him. The mood was starting to bring Titus, Alfred and Bat-cow down as well. (Damian didn't even know cows _could_ become depressed.) But that wasn't to say Colin was always happy, the boy had enough problems of his own. Since the two had last seen each other, months before Damian's death, he'd been in and out of three foster homes. Always considered too 'messed-up' to be helped.

But there was always an air of positivity. Colin often explored the city during his free time. He'd hum stupid music as he moved through the crowds, saying hello to the street vendors, or popping his head into the dingy diner that he went to after his patrols as Abuse, always looking for the brunette waitress that Damian knew he had a crush on. He'd go to the park and sit by the edge of the pond, plucking up strands of grass, tearing them apart and then tossing them in the water. He would climb trees and take naps among the branches.

Normal things.

Damian would go with him while he did these things. Much like with Tim, he would talk at Colin the whole time. But unlike his brother, he knew there was next to no hope he would connect with his friend. Colin could fall into a daydream in the blink of an eye. He rarely heard the nuns when they were talking to him from three feet away; there's no way he would hear a voice from beyond the grave. And, weirdly enough, Damian was okay with that. It's not like he and Colin hung out because the conversation was great. They just…liked each other's company. Damian was better than the nuns and Colin was better than Batman.

Colin knew where Grayson's apartment was. He even knew where one of Todd's safe houses was, too. Sometimes he would pass them and just stare up into the windows. Hoping, maybe, that someone would look out the window and spot him. Recognize him? That would give him the courage to go ask them. Make sure his friend was okay.

But Colin would always bail. Damian would sigh in annoyance as Colin began openly voicing his reasons not to go through the door while he ducked around the corner and made a beeline for the orphanage. They didn't know him well enough. Nightwing might not remember him at all. Did he ever actually meet Red Hood? That woman with green eyes was…decidedly terrifying.

Damian didn't know how Colin would react when he found out. Because one of these days he will. Would he cry? Would he stop being Abuse, or would it make him fight harder for his cause? Would he blame Batman? Would he blame the man he believed to have saved his life twice?

For now, though, Colin Wilkes didn't know. And Damian wasn't sure if he wanted to keep it that way or not. Because Colin was his friend. Colin was his _best_ friend. He didn't want to hurt him. But he didn't want to lie to him either.

In the end, Damian never made a move to help Colin find the truth. He never caused an emergency at Grayson's apartment or forced a back-alley meet between Abuse and Red Hood. Colin was orphaned, not stupid. He would figure it out eventually, or when one of his brothers decided to man up and tell him themselves.

All he knew was that Colin was the one person he didn't mess up. Not yet. He didn't feel guilty, following the ginger to the park to chase the ducks. He didn't want to start crying while he sat across from Colin in his normal corner booth at the diner. The boy didn't brood like it was going out of style. Didn't blame himself for anything. With Colin, it almost seemed like he wasn't dead at all. Everything was as it always was. Constant.

It was all based on a lie, of course, but he could ignore it. Because Damian missed what it was like to be happy. He had forgotten what happy even looked like on another human being. And Colin was great at reminding him.

He had to face it. Colin's attitude was infectious.

Maybe he could make Nightwing rethink his policy on working with a partner? Damian would always smile at the thought. Grayson always cited it as a disease, his weakness for redheads.


	9. Pits

**So this is a thing.**

**I'm a photographer, and while not religious, I was doing a photo story in a church in Ohio and one of my shoots was during the Sunday sermon. It was near Easter, so the message was about resurrection. One of the lines the pastor said really stuck with me, so I used it as inspiration for this, and also included it in the dialogue.**

**Also, I've never said, but if any of you have your own theories, or have heard any, on the paranormal that you'd like me to explore in this collection, never hesitate to inform me in whatever manner you wish. I'd love to give it a go. :)**

* * *

"You must be out of your fucking mind."

Jason looked ready to pull his gun right then, but Damian knew he wouldn't. Not on Dick. Not right now, when they weren't in costume and Dick looked like a wet puppy who'd been kicked a hundred times.

"Why the _hell_ would you even call me about this?"

"Because you know how this all works." Dick said calmly. "You know where they _are_."

Lazarus Pits.

"I know where _one_ is," Jason spat. "And I only know how it works because Talia told me after the fact."

"But you still know," Dick pushed.

"So do you, asshole. Remember your little experiment that almost got the kid killed a year and a half ago?" Jason countered. He was getting agitated. But Damian had no choice. Drake was off-world with the Titans and Alfred was having a hard enough time swaying his father from the very same idea. While either of them would have probably been able to let Dick down a little more gently, the fact was Dick was beginning to show signs of desperation, there wasn't time to wait for someone to be kind. Not when Dick had a full tank of gas on his bike, an anguish that could take him over the edge at any second and, like Jason said, a vague idea of how the voodoo worked.

So Dick called Jason. That's what the Red Hood thought, anyway. Dick just assumed he dialed the number on accident. They were both incorrect.

"That was…kind of different," Dick said sheepishly, ignoring the last part of Jason's statement. "I want to make sure I do it right this time."

"Are you asking me to help you?"

"Yes."

"Fuck you." Jason pushed himself out of his chair and into the kitchen. Damian pressed himself against the counter as Jason stomped by him, towards the fridge. He hated when the living walked through him. It left a tingle through his body that was ridiculously unpleasant. Jason rooted in the fridge for a moment before pulling out a beer and slamming the door shut. He didn't offer one to Dick. "You know? Okay, the kid wasn't my favorite person, but yeah, I miss him just as much as you and Bruce and Tim do. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

"So…is that a yes?" Dick asked hopefully.

"No." Jason said, twisting the cap to his bottle off. "Because the kid might not have deserved to die, but Damian sure as hell doesn't deserve the shit that comes with being thrown in a Pit either."

Dick's face fell. "But Jason, you don't understand."

"I do, Dickie. I do," Jason's anger was subsiding as he moved back towards the sofa, plopping down next to his brother. "Damian was…well, he was your baby. Bruce's saving grace and your last connection to humanity when you didn't have one."

"I miss him," Dick whispered. Damian grimaced as heard tears in his mentor's voice. "I miss him so much."

"Yeah," Jason sighed. "But bringing him back to life, at least by way of a Pit, isn't the way to fix that. In a way, it would hurt him. He wouldn't exactly be the Damian you remember, at least not for a while. He would have these…problems that you wouldn't be able to even begin to understand, let alone help him through."

"You could," Dick said.

"And as stupid as it is, I probably would. But it's not just that, Dick. It's…hard to explain." Jason sighed. "Resurrection changes _everything_."

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Damian moved to the chair Jason had previously occupied. Jason continued to sip on his beer while Dick stared at the table in front of him, blinking methodically. Damian assumed it was so he didn't cry. Suddenly he huffed loudly, throwing his head back against the sofa and staring at the ceiling. Jason took one last gulp of his drink before looking at him.

"It's too hard," he said quietly. "I can't do this."

"That's what Tim and I are here for," Jason said. "Your own personal support system. But we'd work a lot better if you, you know, actually called us or something."

"Are you saying you actually call Roy or Kori when you need to let your _emotions_ out?" Dick asked incredulously.

"Sasha too, believe it or not." Jason ignored Dick's disbelief. "But if we're not good enough for you, then talk to Bruce. He's going through the same thing. Worse, actually, if what Ollie Queen told me was the truth. And you know as well as I do that it probably is."

"I don't…" Dick seemed to struggle with the words. "I'm not ready to talk to Bruce. Not yet."

"Then you're stuck with me and Tim." Jason said, shoving the beer into Dick's hand. "Deal with it."

"Will you help me find a way to bring Damian back?" Dick asked, taking a small sip of the alcohol.

"Answer carefully, Todd," Damian growled, knowing he wouldn't be heard. Of course, that never stopped him from voicing his opinions before. "He's still fragile."

Jason pondered the question for a moment. "…maybe."

"Maybe?" Dick sounded hopeful again. It left a strange feeling in Damian's stomach.

"Maybe. One condition, though," Jason said quickly. "No Pits."

Dick let himself smile slightly, holding up three fingers in a mock scout's honor.

"No Pits."


	10. Handprint

**Soooo. I wrote this while drunk. And I'll be honest, I'm entirely sober yet either.**

**I hope you enjoy anyway. There's not enough Alfred, human or cat, in this collection for my liking.**

* * *

There were some days when Damian liked to pretend he wasn't dead. That he could still be seen, could still annoy the living daylights out of people.

And he would make sure to get the dog blamed for the whole thing.

He played his pranks mostly on Pennyworth. Poor old Pennyworth, who seemed to have aged decades after his demise. The family was slowly slipping from his grasp. They all seemed less willing to open up to the grandfather figure, forgetting that the old butler still blamed himself for Robin's death. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe they blamed him too. Pennyworth got the shortest end of the stick in this whole ordeal.

So Damian followed him around the Manor. And because Damian followed Pennyworth, so did Titus. So did Alfred. So did Bat-cow, if Pennyworth was in the Cave. Framing the animals was never difficult when they always fell for the bait.

Once, Damian was sitting on the table in the hallway, cross-legged with Alfred sitting next to him, Titus on the floor, while Pennyworth vacuumed the carpets. When the phone rang, Pennyworth glanced into the study at Bruce, who was sitting behind the desk staring at family portraits, knowing he wouldn't answer it. He shut off the machine and hurried his way down the hall. As soon as Damian heard him start to speak into the receiver, he gently elbowed the vase sitting next to him, opposite of Alfred. The vase's contents of dying flowers and dirt poured out, hitting Titus before rolling off the table and smashing to the ground. When Pennyworth returned, Titus stood. Before the butler could get a word out, the dog began to shake himself clean, throwing dirt all across the floor.

Pennyworth's glare matched that of the Batman's. Neither Titus nor Alfred needed any help in shooing themselves away after that. As they scurried down the hall, Alfred stopped and turned, sending a vengeful look back to his master, who stayed on his tabletop perch, laughing quietly.

Damian was quickly forgiven by Titus, Alfred a day or two after. And that's how it always was. His animals' faulty memories were quite the blessing. He was even pretty sure that Alfred found it amusing when only Titus got in trouble, and vice versa.

But the best days were when Pennyworth didn't get angry, like when it seemed Titus had somehow opened the washing machine mid-cycle, and ended up tracking soap and bubbles through the entire first floor and garage. He wouldn't glare or even shout. Instead, he'd find the animal and get down to their level, or scoop them up in his arms. While petting their heads, he'd smile as he scolded, "Now what would Master Damian have done with you, hm?"

He would just stroke them, then. Talking as if the animal would ever answer back. (Bat-cow would try. She'd moo whenever Pennyworth asked a typically rhetorical question.) Then he'd give their fur one last ruffle, kiss them gently on the head or nose and set about cleaning the mess he believed them to have made, smiling all the way.

Today was no different. Damian was exhausted after dealing with Drake's team of obnoxious superheroes for the past week and decided to head straight home in lieu his normal rounds of Gotham to check on the others. He needed a break.

He was sitting on the island in the kitchen, or that's what he would have told anyone who questioned him. He was really lying on his stomach, feet dangling off the end, an arm draped over the side while the other supported his chin, watching as Pennyworth set out ingredients next to him. Titus was sitting at the end closest to Damian's face, staring up at him. He would bark anytime it looked like Pennyworth was about to sit a bowl or package anywhere near Damian's transparent body.

"He's going to kick you out of the kitchen if you don't quiet down," Damian muttered. Titus's ears flattened.

"If you're so opinionated today, Titus," Pennyworth chuckled, placing a bowl of flour near Damian's head. "Then perhaps you can help me in deciding what to make Master Bruce for lunch."

"Something of health value," Damian quipped. "Drake told the speedster that he believes Father to have not eaten anything yesterday. Again. But then he ate those strange appetizers at last night's gala. I suggest a simple sandwich would suffice."

"Pasta?" Pennyworth looked down at the Great Dane. Titus barked. "Okay, with meatballs. Classic Italian. Excellent choice."

Damian rolled his eyes before staring back down at his dog. Titus panted for a few seconds before licking his lips and cocking his head to the side. When Damian didn't move, he huffed, jumping to his hind legs and leaning against the island, sniffing at the boy's nose. Damian sighed and raised his head, resting it against his knuckles. Pennyworth glanced over at the dog and tsked, moving his food preparation to the counter next to the stove.

Titus craned his next forward, tongue lapping out of his mouth to try and reach Damian's face. When he couldn't reach, he began to whine quietly. Damian let him struggle for a few moments before smiling and moving forward. Titus's paws scrambled at the marble in happiness as he quickly licked Damian's cheek. As the dog showered him with affection, Damian's eyes wandered to the flour bowl sitting next to him, ready for Pennyworth's next culinary project.

Well…why not.

He took a quick breath and exhaled over the bowl. Tiny white specks flew up into the air, hovering for a moment before descending to the floor. This caught Titus's attention and he stopped grappling for Damian's face, staring at the bowl instead. Damian glanced at him, smile still on his face as he backed away and shifted, putting the flour between him and the dog.

He blew on it again, and the white powder flew against Titus's nose and muzzle. He huffed again, shaking his head in attempts to dislodge the flour from his face. It worked, but now Titus was curious. Damian glanced at Pennyworth before slowly pushing the bowl forward. Titus immediately stuck his nose in it, investigating this new substance.

Damian barked out a laugh. Titus made it too easy sometimes.

In a quick movement, Damian flipped the small bowl onto Titus's head. The dog yelped in surprise, jumping from the counter and backing against one of the chairs at the table. Damian sat up and hopped off the counter as Pennyworth turned to investigate the sound. The cloud of flour was just beginning to settle as Titus merely sat down, staring at the now-white floor in awe.

Pennyworth took in the whole scene before a grin broke out on his face as he made his way over to Titus. He knelt next to the dog and took his face in his hands, inspecting it to make sure Titus hadn't injured himself. As he turned Titus's face back and forth, he hummed, "Dear Titus. If only Master Damian could see what has become of you now."

Titus looked up as Damian moved towards him, giving new meaning to the term 'puppy eyes.' Damian had never seen a living creature look so betrayed. Titus blinked as Pennyworth patted him on the neck and stood, a puff of white immerging from the black fur.

"Stay right here, okay Titus? We're going to clean this up." Pennyworth slowly made his way out of the room in direction of the cleaning supplies. Damian crouched next to Titus, scratching his back. "No need for Master Bruce to know. This'll be our little secret."

And surely it was the butler's imagination, that perfect little flour handprint on Titus's side he saw when he returned to the kitchen. Just an interesting splash pattern, nothing more.


	11. Demons

**So, this is a more-or-less direct response to Batman Inc. #12, so if you haven't read it yet, and want to avoid spoilers, I would stay away from this.**

**I've read a lot of fics that regard Damian's clone, so I figured I should write one too. However, somehow the fandom decided he was named Benjamin? Yeah, I didn't. I left it a bit open ended (you'll see what I mean) so what should I name him, should he appear/be mentioned in later chapters? Also, r****eading the comic, I feel like Talia never told the clone anything about Bruce, and treated him differently than Damian. I...kinda felt bad for him.**

**That real dark chapter regarding Dick is written, but I'm not ready to post it yet. So...that's an update, of sorts.**

**Originally, this was based off 'Demons' by Imagine Dragons, but then I just kept writing and before I knew it, this chapter took on a mind of it's own. But still. The gist of 'Demons' is in here. Somewhere.**

**Hope y'all enjoy. And please review. I absolutely adore hearing of your thoughts and emotions on each storyline.**

* * *

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

But that was the contradiction. A person's physical presence didn't portray their soul or their mind. Himself, for example. He was four feet tall and, 'adorable' by society's standards (said Brown and Supergirl) but was a 'strong little fuck' that didn't fit that profile (said Todd).

So he shouldn't have been surprised, when he saw the child in the graveyard, next to his grave, in fact. Legs curled to his chest, tears streaming down his face – and they were tears, the rain wasn't affecting him – looking lost and confused and unloved.

Titus spotted him first. Damian had decided to take his dog for a walk around the grounds, regardless of the weather. They were passing the family resting place when Titus took a defensive stance around Damian's knees, growling. Damian put his hand on the animal's head as he looked across the way. Titus barked and the child jumped, looking up with wide, fearful brown eyes.

And Damian knew.

The child cocked his head to the side, eyes darting between Damian and the still-growling Titus. Damian wanted to be angry, he wanted to lash out. After all, it was all this _thing's_ fault. Everything was because of _him_. But for as tough and unforgiving as he wanted to be, Damian always had a soft spot for children – especially the ones who had no choice in what happened to them.

The word _clone_ was on the tip of his tongue, but what came out of his mouth instead was, "Brother."

The child's face scrunched up, clearly trying to put on a brave face. "She…Mother used me."

Damian's killer had died, he'd found that out later. Murdered by the woman they called their mother, beheaded because he was no longer useful. Because he was starting to _question_.

"She killed me. I think because…because I killed you?" the child's stare shifted to the ground as he tried to concentrate, tried to understand why everything had happened the way it did. Damian shushed Titus, sending the dog to go keep dry under a nearby tree, before slowly making his way forward. The boy looked up, his voice quiet. "I…didn't know where else to go."

Damian crouched next to him, taking in the smaller boy's appearance. He couldn't have been older than four years old. Dark hair, big eyes, narrow face. An air of superiority and entitlement that had been shattered by their mother's betrayal. This was the mind of the monster who had stabbed him. This was the real being behind the giant body and bat-shaped helmet.

A four year old who just wanted to please his mommy.

"I know you didn't." Damian said, wiping a tear from the younger's face. "But…you can't stay here."

The younger's face contorted into anger. "_You_ have!"

"Not really. I travel." Damian said, pulling his hand back. Do not reward anger, that's how Father and Grayson dealt with him. That is how he would deal with his brother, then. "But that's not what I mean. I mean you need to…cross over."

"…what?"

"I'm not sure of the term, but you cannot let your soul remain on Earth," Damian explained. "There are much better things for you elsewhere in this universe."

The child pouted. "Like what?"

"Among other things," Damian said slowly. "You will meet our grandparents."

"I already have," he said. "Mother had Grandfather imprisoned."

"Our _other_ grandparents. Ones who would love and care for you, whether you met their standards or not."

The child – Damian figured he should ask for a name, but realized Talia probably did not care enough to give him a proper one – stared up at Damian, hope and excitement in his eyes. He hadn't been with their mother long enough to be brainwashed into thinking meeting standards were all there was to life. If things were different, his younger brother would still have had a chance at a semi-normal life. The boy's gaze moved over to where Titus was sitting, still watching, and then to the manor. "Is this where Batman lives?"

"Mhm," Damian hummed, standing. "Would you like to go look?"

"Yes!" the boy jumped up, tugging at Damian's shirt. Titus growled slightly at the gesture, and the child looked over at him. "Will the mutt be with us?"

"Of course Titus will be accompanying us," Damian replied as he snapped his fingers. Titus shuffled over as Damian lifted the boy into his grasp. Tiny arms immediately latched onto Damian's neck. "He will not harm you."

"Then why is he making noises at me?" he asked, making faces at the dog as Titus fell into line beside them.

"Because he knows what you di…" Damian paused. "He knows what our Mother made you do."

It was easier to lie. He was this child's older brother, and suddenly he felt a need to act like it. To protect him from that cold truth: He and Damian had both been doomed from the start. The child didn't need to know that.

Suddenly, Grayson's mannerisms and attitude made a lot more sense.

"I am sorry for that…brother." The boy said, leaning back in Damian's arms so he could look into his eyes. "If I could take it back, I would."

"I'm sure," Damian sighed. "But 'what-ifs' and regrets are pointless at this stage. So let's not go there."

They were silent for a few minutes as Damian moved across the grounds. Might as well finish Titus's walk while they were at it. Rain continued to pour as they did, but both spirits remained dry. The boy in his arms never questioned it. As they turned a corner, Damian noticed the glow of the fireplace in his bedroom. Father was holding his vigil once more, it seemed.

"I don't recall ever being this small," his brother quipped, holding his hand out in front of the two of them.

"Because Mother had you grown unnaturally, so you'd be a formidable enemy." Damian said, turning so the younger wouldn't see the firelight.

"Hm. I like this better, I think." The boy said, leaning his head on Damian's collarbone. "It's nice."

The desperation for love came off the boy in waves, and Damian couldn't help but think of a conversation Grayson once held with Drake, one he wasn't supposed to hear, about Damian's own need to be accepted. He shifted his hand to rest on the child's head. "You're in luck. You'll be staying within these proportions, if I'm not mistaken."

"Will our grandparents like me this size?" Damian hummed an acquiesce. "…my father's parents, correct?"

Damian felt his teeth grind together in annoyance. Clearly Talia had taken a different approach when raising her mutant second child. Damian was given the luxury of watching his father from a young age, of knowing, at least vaguely, who he was. The monster was not.

No wonder he was given the name the Fatherless.

"Yes, _our_ father's parents." Damian said as they reached a door. He nodded to it and Titus moved forward, jumping against the handle and shoving the barrier open. "And I assure you, little one, they are much kinder than Ra's al Ghul ever could be."

Damian kicked the door closed and began to wander the halls. His charge stared at the high walls and works of art in awe – and Damian found himself faintly remembering that he shot the monster's eye out in that final battle. Of course, wounds don't translate in death.

"The Batman beat me, for what I did to you," the boy said absently as they stopped in the study. "So did that man with the sticks and the woman in the armor, though I think she beat me for a different reason."

"Nightwing and Knight were emotional at the time. Don't hold it against them. You were their enemy, after all." Damian mused as he glanced over to the door. Titus and Alfred were watching. Damian narrowed his eyes and Titus ducked out while Alfred took it as an invitation, sauntering into the room and jumping on the desk. "And I guess you shouldn't hold it against the Batman either."

"I don't. I killed his partner. I expected him to react as such." The boy looked at the floor. "I didn't expect Mother's reaction to be the same."

Damian exhaled, not sure what to say. In truth, he wasn't expecting his mother's reaction to be what it was either. When he disobeyed Talia, he was merely disowned, not executed at her hand. His brother didn't ask for comfort, though. He didn't lay back on Damian's shoulder or start to cry. He held his head high, trying not to look weak or vulnerable, just like Damian had always done himself.

He opened his mouth to respond when the child suddenly pointed. "That is you?"

His finger was pointing at an old portrait, the biggest on the wall. It was of Thomas and Martha Wayne, both with an arm around a young Bruce. Damian smiled, but shook his head. Alfred suddenly meowed towards the door, where Titus was sitting again.

"Titus, go to Father." Damian ordered. Titus lowered his head. "Don't worry, Alfred will protect me. Go on." Titus dragged himself out of the room and Damian turned his attention back to the boy in his arms, only to find him staring accusingly. "er…what?"

"Father?" the boy asked. "Brother, you claimed this was the home of the Batman."

"It is."

The younger's eyes narrowed as he looked from Damian to the old family portrait and all of the other pictures around. After two straight minutes he looked back at Damian, his voice barely above a whisper. "The Batman is our father?"

"I never said he wasn't." Damian shrugged.

Anger and hurt began to flash across the little boy's features as he began to huff and choke out noises, not knowing what to say. "Mother was fighting Father? _That's_ what this whole thing was about?"

"Unfortunately so." Damian said, moving back out to the hallway and towards the staircase. Alfred yawned and followed. "It appears, also, that this battle was the only reason you or I ever existed."

"That…doesn't seem right." The child sighed.

Damian smiled. "You are your father's son after all, it seems, if you have a tinkling of what is right and wrong."

The younger gazed up the stairs, seemingly already knowing where they were heading. "Do you think…" he started. "…he would have fought for me like he did for you?"

Damian thought for a moment as they reached the top of the stairs. Alfred darted ahead of them. The Fatherless glanced down at him, and the kitten began to purr. Damian hoisted the child up on his waist, "You have been raised an al Ghul, but you carry the blood of a Wayne. And Father has always aimed to protect whatever family he has. So yes, little one, I do believe that, given the chance, Father would have fought to the death for you."

"Oh," he muttered as they reached the open doorway leading to Damian's room. Damian stood there for a moment, glancing in. His Father was sitting on the stool by the fire, flipping through Damian's sketchbook, with Titus lying at his feet. He wasn't crying, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to later. "Brother, I request you put me down now."

Damian complied, setting the child gently on the floor. "Do not be too harsh. With enough effort the living can feel when we touch them. So do not push or kick or anything else you are used to doing when you want to be noticed. I will not hesitate to remove you from the area if I see fit."

The boy nodded as he moved into the room. Titus let him pass, still watching him suspiciously. He stopped in front of Bruce as the man closed the sketchbook and tossed it to the nearby mattress. Bruce stared into the crackling fire as the four year old leaned forward, putting his hands on his father's knees.

"Hello, Father." The boy said. "It is very nice to meet you."

Damian watched from the doorway with the cat. His younger brother was quiet in his words, head turned with curiosity as he stared at the man he never knew in amazement. Completely opposite of the immense war machine they had battled a few months before. It was mind-boggling to think they were the same person.

"Apologies, Father." The boy said, turning his eyes to the fire as well. "I took my brother from you."

Bruce leaned forward on his knees, hands dropping between his legs. If Damian had to guess, there was a case on his father's mind, and he had come into this room to clear his mind, think of all the possibilities. He'd always done that; whenever he was concerned about a problem that he couldn't seemingly solve, he'd roam the manor, often coming to Damian's room to check on him, or fix his blankets if he were asleep. The practice kept up and multiplied after his demise. The clone reached out, hanging onto Bruce's hand, comparing the sizes.

"I hope you can forgive me for that one day," the boy whispered, leaning up and kissing Bruce's cheek.

"Oh my word," a voice from Damian's left said softly. He wasn't surprised. "He looks exactly like you."

"That's the point of a clone, Grandmother," he laughed quietly, looking up at the woman next to him. "Where is Grandfather?"

"Previous engagement. Being dead can be quite busy, you know?" Martha grinned. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one, as far as I'm aware." Damian responded, watching as the younger climbed up on the stool Bruce was sitting on. "Mother didn't find a reason to give him one."

"That's unfortunate," Martha sighed. "Do you think he'll be as stubborn as you were?"

"No," Damian smiled. "He didn't have the ties to others here like I did. Nor does he have as much guilt, I suppose."

"He killed you," Martha whispered, putting her arm around Damian's shoulders. "And that friend of Bruce's. Cyril. That's something."

"And I killed dozens more." Damian responded. "Besides, I told him you were nice. He's excited to meet you."

Martha laughed and the child looked over. Once again, curiosity took over his face. Damian shook his head and waved away. The boy leaned into Bruce's side, staring back into the fire.

"Will you forgive him, Grandmother?"

Martha paused, watching as Alfred purred and rubbed against her legs. "Of course, Damian."

"Good." Damian nodded. "Brother."

The child looked up, and Damian inclined his head toward the hallway. The younger returned the gesture and hopped from the chair, running after them. "…Damian? Who is this?"

"Little one." Damian knelt beside him, looking up at Martha. "This is your grandmother. You're going to go with her, and she is going to take care of you."

"Hey, sweetheart." Martha crooned. The boy took a step towards her. Martha ran her fingers through the boy's hair.

"Brother…?" he called. Damian hummed. "You said there were better things waiting for me."

"Mhm."

"Aren't there better things waiting for you, too?"

"Potentially."

The child turned back towards him. "So why do you stay?"

Damian smiled at him. "Because I do not deserve those things." He said. "I have done many bad things, Brother. Things far worse than your crimes. It's about time I try to make up for them."

"I…understand." He nodded. "Will I see you again?"

"If you like," Damian said, thoughtfully. "I'm sure Grandmother could arrange it."

"Okay," the boy said, raising his arms. Martha scooped him up, immediately kissing his cheek.

"Two grandsons!" she breathed, nuzzling her face against his. His face scrunched up, but Damian heard him give a little laugh. "Who'd have thought it!"

"Goodbye, Brother." The boy said, giving a slight wave as he and Martha began to fade away. Titus appeared in the doorway and watched the scene for a few seconds before coming to Damian's side, nudging his hand. Damian scratched Titus's head with one hand, raising the other to wave back.

"Goodbye, little one."


	12. Truth

**First off, you kittens are so sweet with your kind words! I wish to hug and cuddle each and every one of you forever.**

**I realized I don't write a lot about Tim, unless he's kind of a background person. So here he is as a main person. And Colin. I imagine that Damian at some point told Colin about his family, but still wanted to keep an air of 'secret identity' so just told basic facts, like what they look like out of costume and what they go by, etc.**

**Also, I am very aware that Damian doesn't do much in this one. But, I mean. What is he _supposed_ to do?**

**Not based off of much. Just vaguely connected to my own memories of finding out about a close friend's passing a few years back, though it was absolutely nothing like this.**

**Bad ending is bad. Apologies in advance.**

* * *

"Hi."

Damian's eye twitched as he cringed. Whoops.

Tim looked up from his plate, a large bite of chicken bulging in his cheek. "Um. Hi."

Damian didn't turn towards the voice. Stupid, this was _really_ stupid. He should have checked what diner this was, or at least what side of town it was. He should have made _sure_. He would have any other time! Since when did he ever just blindly follow Drake around? Never, that's when! And this, right here, was the reason. He sighed, resisting the urge to smack his palm against the table. Death was making him soft.

He didn't want to deal with this. Not now. More than that, he didn't want _Drake_ to be the one to have to do this. As much as he enjoyed making Drake suffer in life, in death he was realizing how hard the older man worked to keep everything together, even if he put himself on the backburner. He was already caring for Grayson, and his father to an extent, he didn't want to burden his brother with caring for someone else. Actually, this should be Grayson's job. Hell, _Todd's_. Anyone else but Drake at this point.

"You…don't remember me, do you?" The voice was smiling. Damian heard Colin shove his hands into the pocket of his oversized jacket. Tim slowly chewed and swallowed before shaking his head. "Figures. I don't think we ever actually met. Dam…er…uh, I mean. Um…you're…you're Red Robin, right?"

Tim didn't move, but Damian saw his muscles tighten, getting ready to defend himself if necessary. Damian couldn't suppress the need to roll his eyes. Really Drake? You're scared of a redheaded midget twelve-year-old?

"Why would you think that?" Tim asked politely, busying his hands so the boy standing in front of him wouldn't notice the tension. He shoved all of the papers he was looking at into a pile and aligned them with his plate.

"Well," Damian finally glanced over at his friend, who seemed to have lost his original confidence. "Because my friend Damian told me you were."

Damian looked back at Tim just in time to see all the color drain from his face. His eyes widened, but he quickly blinked, looking down at the table to hide his shock. After a few seconds, Tim cleared his throat and coughed, trying to regain his composure as he set the papers next to him on the booth seat. "Sorry. I-ahem…uh, why don't you sit down, mister…"

"Colin." The boy said. Damian slid over to the wall as he sat down. "And you're Tim, right? Damian's brother?"

A small smile appeared on Tim's lips, "Really? He told you we were brothers?"

Colin shrugged. "Only recently. And only your first name. He said you, Nightwing and Red Hood, Dick and Jason, are his brothers. Batman is his dad."

"Recently?"

"Like, six months ago."

"Colin…" Tim tilted his head. "Go by anything else?"

Colin grinned, showing off a gap in his teeth that Damian didn't remember being there before. "Yeah. Abuse."

"Ahhh…" Tim drawled, "Yeah, I've seen you around. Funny, you seemed bigger."

"Hah, yeah. That's what Batgirl said once."

"You also definitely didn't – _don't_ – seem to be the type to befriend Robin."

Colin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He…isn't the easiest guy to get along with." Tim sighed. He raised his hand and waved over to the waitress, pointing at Colin. "I know from experience."

Damian reached over the table, gently flicking a speck of barbeque sauce at Tim's neck. Tim didn't notice.

"We went through some stuff with Zsasz a few years back." Colin explained, like it was no big deal. The waitress appeared, giving him a menu. "But that kind of brings me to my point."

"Oh? And what is that?" Tim asked as Colin eyed the menu suspiciously. "And get anything you want. My treat."

The waitress stood there and waited while Colin decided. In the end, he picked a grilled cheese and tomato soup with a coke. "My point is…well, like I said. I haven't seen Damian – or Robin, for that matter – in six months. In over six months."

"So?" Tim muttered, looking back down at his own food. Damian could tell he was having a debate in his head. Because this kid, he didn't _know_. He had no idea what happened to Robin. He hadn't been there, hasn't seen the aftermath. Was Tim supposed to tell him? Obviously he and Damian had been close, close enough that he'd come looking for answers. The truth was going to destroy him. Did Tim really have to…? "I've gone over six months without seeing Damian before too."

"Yeah, but I haven't seen _Robin_ in those six months either." Colin argued. "No one has. There's been a lot of rumors…"

Tim looked up, locking eyes with the boy in front of him. Colin suddenly felt his stomach turn. He sat back, slumping against the booth. Maybe he didn't want the answer after all. Damian had said that, while obnoxious, Red Robin was _good_. But surely Colin would be able to see if he was lying, right? Because right now, that's what it looked like he was doing; trying to figure out some lie to make Colin go away.

"Tim…" he said slowly. The waitress suddenly returned with Colin's order. He wasn't feeling really hungry. "Where's Damian?"

"Eat first," Tim said, cutting back into his chicken. "You look famished."

Colin paused, looking to press the issue. After a minute he leaned forward, taking one of the triangles of sandwich and dipping it into the soup.

"Call Grayson," Damian said, leaning across the table. Maybe this would be one of the few times Drake could see him, sense his presence. It would be beneficial. "Call Todd. Hell, call _Father_. You don't have to do this, Drake. You've done enough. You don't have to care for Wilkes, too. It's too much."

"Damian…saved the city," Tim mumbled. Colin stared at him as he drank his soda.

"That doesn't answer where he is."

Tim looked back up, the mask he attempted to hold up earlier completely shattered. Grief shined in his eyes. "He died doing so."

Colin froze, hand stuck to his glass. "What?" He whispered.

"A few months ago," Tim said quietly. "Leviathan."

"Oh." The boy's voice was soft. His hand on the glass had begun to shake. Damian couldn't tell if he noticed or not.

"I'm sorry, Colin. I didn't know that you two were friends." Tim said, reaching out. He put his hand over Colin's. "If I did, if someone had told me, you would have known sooner. I would have told you right away."

Colin was silent, staring down towards the table, at the space between their meals. Tim didn't say anything, just continued to hold Colin's hand, even after he felt the boy's shaking stop. After a few minutes, Colin glanced up, "That…explains a lot."

"Like what?"

"Why I don't see Nightwing anymore. Damian said they were close. He's taking it really hard, isn't he?" Tim nodded. Colin's gaze drifted back down "And Hood…most of the time when I pass where he and those other two people stay I hear him shouting. I've heard Damian's name a few times. It never occurred to me that Damian might have…been killed. He called you all misfit brothers; I thought there was some family thing going on, that Damian was involved in. One time I passed by as Abuse and Hood was outside. I think he was drunk, but he recognized me. Told me to go home. That I shouldn't be out there, that Gotham didn't need another dead kid. Another dead _hero_. I didn't know what he meant but I guess now…"

Colin finally looked up, his eyes filled with unshed tears. Tim didn't think he'd ever felt so terrible. "Colin…"

"Is…ah…is there a bathroom in here?" His eyes searched the diner. "Um, you know, never mind. I'll just…um…I'm going to step outside. I just need a second."

Colin tore his hand from Tim's and moved towards the door. Tim followed. Damian sighed, phasing through the wall.

He found them in the alley. Colin against the wall, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Tim was watching him from the street, an attempt at giving him privacy. After a few minutes, Colin choked out, "What happened?"

"Nightwing was unconscious, I was trapped. Hood was indisposed and Batman was elsewhere." Tim said. "Robin decided to take on our enemy by himself. He saved lives when he did, but…he lost."

A sob escaped Colin's mouth, but he was otherwise silent as he shook his head back and forth trying to dispel the tears and emotions. "He was…my best friend."

Tim moved forward as he saw Colin's hands tightening on his knees. "He might hurt himself. I don't know how the Venom will affect him with the emotions." Damian called, leaning against the opposite wall of the alley mouth.

"I told him…I told him I wanted to help people, like the Justice League. Like you guys. And he gave me a way to do that." Colin continued as Tim knelt in front of him. His red hair was falling across his face, but even from a few feet away, Damian could see a few tears gathering at the tip of Colin's nose. Tim put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I never thanked him for that."

Tim tried to smile. It looked wrong. "He'd never have wanted you to."

Another sob wracked Colin's body and Tim immediately gathered the boy into his arms. Colin accepted the affection, wrapping his arms around Tim's neck, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Already the tears were beginning to dry. Damian snorted. Colin never was one for crying anyway.

The diner bell rang and Damian glanced over to see the waitress coming out the door, two plastic boxes and Tim's papers in her hands. She peeked around the corner, spotting Tim and Colin, and walked towards them. Colin didn't notice her. Tim did. He moved to pull his wallet out, but the waitress shook her head as she placed the boxes and papers on the ground next to them.

"On the house," she mouthed, pointing to Colin, as if that answered all Tim's questions. Damian remembered: this was Colin's favorite diner. Of course the staff would recognize him. She extended her hand, quickly stroking Colin's hair before kissing his temple and disappearing back around the wall and into the diner. Tim smiled again, a real one this time. Damian smirked, knowing 'on the house' to his brother really meant 'pay it back triple anonymously later.'

After a few minutes, Colin released himself from Tim's hold, taking one last deep breath. "I'll be okay, I think."

"You're a tough kid. I know you will." Tim said, still perched on his knees, looking up at Colin. "But you don't have to be right now. If it ever gets too much, or if you ever just need anything, don't hesitate to call me, okay?"

Colin nodded as Tim handed him a card. "I'd like to…see where he's buried. One day, not now, if that's cool."

"Of course," Tim said warmly, picking up the boxes and papers and standing. He put an arm around Colin's shoulders as he led him out of the alley. "Now, let's get you home."

Damian pushed himself off the wall, following closely behind. "Thank you, Drake."


	13. Assistance

**Man, you guys really don't like stories about Colin, eh? Not a lot of reviews on either chapter about him.**

**This here is based off a prompt/idea/whatever from the lovely **_**AJCrane**_**, who suggested I write something about Nightwing finding a paranormal investigator to try and speak to Damian. Again, if anyone has a prompt/idea they want me to try, let me know in any way you see fit.**

**Hope I did your idea justice, my dear!**

* * *

For the millionth time that night, Nightwing forced himself to take a deep breath. This was wrong, all _wrong_. He didn't want to be out here. He didn't want to be in this stupid suit, wearing this stupid mask. He didn't want to risk running into Bruce. That would just make everything worse.

He glanced up from his position on the fire escape as he heard the van door open. Soft voices, a yellowish light illuminating a pair sitting at some computer monitors. The female of the two standing outside the van pointed at one of the monitors, and someone inside set to work, evident by the suddenly blinking screen.

This was a stupid idea. There was no way this was going to work. But…there was nothing else he could do. He was going crazy. He couldn't go to the manor anymore, he just burst into tears walking in the door, knowing what wasn't there. _Who_ wasn't there. And Jason, that asshole. He'd promised to help find a way to bring Damian back. He knew how much Dick needed that, that reassurance if anything, but anytime the subject was brought up, Jason would divert the conversation to something else entirely. Dick even noticed that his brother was starting to ignore his phone calls most of the time, leaving Tim to dish out excuses for his absence.

Well, fine. If he wasn't going to get help in raising the dead, maybe he could at least get help in _talking_ to them.

Dick didn't realize he was holding his breath until he felt his chest deflate in exhale. He leapt from the fire escape onto the roof of the van, steadying himself as the vehicle bounced under his weight.

The woman outside the car gave a shriek and her male partner took a step back as one of the men inside poked his head out. "W-we didn't do nothing!" he shouted. "We got permits to be here, I swear it!"

Nightwing smiled, but he knew it didn't look as charming as it normally did. "I have no doubt that you do, though I would like to see them just to make sure." He said gently. "I'm actually here for…for something else."

A third man hopped out of the truck while the one who spoke disappeared back inside, and Dick could instantly hear papers being shuffled. He went and stood by the couple who were still staring up in shock, spitting on the ground before speaking. "And what would this something else be?"

"Your trade," Nightwing said. "Ghost hunters, right? Paranormal investigators. You go places and speak to the dead? Rumor has it you guys are some of the best in the business."

"I don't like to toot my own horn or anything but…" the man paused, giving Nightwing a look over. Nightwing returned the gesture, taking in the man's slight beer belly, five o'clock shadow, bald head. "Why, who you looking for?"

A hand stuck out of the van, a few multi-colored sheets of paper crinkled among the fingers. "Right here, mask-boy! Permits for everything from the parking space to the electric chord powering the monitors."

Dick took the papers, inspecting the legality of the clauses. He could feel the eyes of all four citizens were stuck on him, but he ignored it. He was almost finished checking through the signatures when the bald man spoke, "Maria, go with John. Check out that third floor hallway again, yeah? Then head to the master bedroom of the penthouse, try to recreate the experience Franco claimed he had. Toto, you cool staying with the van?"

"Sure," Toto said. "But where you going to be, Boss?"

"Private consultation," he said, turning away and heading down the alleyway. "Follow me, Nightwing."

Nightwing obeyed, walking behind the man as they entered the building next to the van through a side door. He could tell immediately that it was a former apartment complex. Run down now, though, mainly makeshift housing to the homeless or an office to drug dealers. Graffiti littered the walls they passed and quick peeks into a few of the rooms told of looting.

The man – Dick had a feeling he wasn't going to be giving his name anytime soon, so he'd stick with the moniker of 'Boss' – motioned into one of the open doors and waited while Dick moved in first. Half of the carpet was ripped up, and a few of the bar stools and a love seat were broken, strewn across the floor of the living room. "There's been rumors about you masked kids, too." Boss said as he closed the door. "Who'd you lose?"

"What kind of rumors?" Dick countered.

Boss paused, seemingly sizing Nightwing up again. "Word on the street is the bird died. Robin. No one's seen him."

Dick found himself unable to hold eye contact. He turned away, shifting towards the dirtied window. The stain on the glass looked like blood; he didn't bother trying to think of where it might have come from. "He was just trying to do what was right."

Boss seemed to take that as a confirmation. "What was he to you?"

Nightwing turned. "Pardon?"

"Robin the Boy Wonder." Boss explained. "It ain't Nightwing and Robin. Everyone knows birdboy belongs – or, I guess, _belonged_ – to the Bat. Then again, everyone knows all you vigilantes work together. What was Robin to you?"

"Partner. Friend. Brother. Child."

"_A_ child?" Boss asked. "Or _your_ child?"

Nightwing didn't answer. "Think you could find him?"

Boss took it in stride. "If he's around, I can try."

"If not?"

"Then it's a wild goose chase, most likely." Boss unhooked a bag that Dick didn't realize was across his chest and began pulling out machines. "You can ask favors of other dead spirits. You know, ask them to go find him and what not, but that doesn't mean they will. Doesn't mean they'd be able to communicate it if they did."

"Oh…yeah, right." Dick mumbled. Boss made another motion, telling Dick to sit down. Dick complied as the man came over and sat in front of him, lying a few machines out between them. "You're not going to…I don't know, ask me any personal information about him, are you?"

Boss chuckled. "I've worked with you masks before. I get the whole secret identity thing, even when you're dead."

Dick sighed, leaning his face onto his hands, running his fingers through his hair. "Of course you have. I got the recommendation from Arsenal."

The hunter glanced up. "You okay? You seem…jumpy."

"I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be trying this. I just…"

"Nightwing, I get it." Boss interjected. "I lost a kid in my family once too. It's not something you just…get over. No matter how hard you try. Me? This was way back, before I got into the ghost business. But I did the same. I went to psychics, mediums, the whole nine yards to just get a glimpse of the kid. Or a word from her."

Dick nodded, still feeling apprehension, steeling himself for the disappointment of potential failure.

Boss finished tinkering with the machines and sat back. "You ready?" Dick leaned forward. "Okay, is there anyone in this room with us?"

Dick watched the machines for any movement or change. He'd never dabbled in the practice but it was easy enough to understand. The skinny thing by his ankle would light up if there was some sort of paranormal energy. The thick thing next to Boss's hand seemed to measure a sort of electromagnetic field. There were two flashlights between them, obviously set a certain way, so if anything even brushed by them they would blink on. An audio recorder sat between them.

Boss continued. "I'm looking for a kid. A boy who goes by the name Robin." After a moment, Boss looked at Dick. "The kid have any other nicknames?"

"Redbird." Dick thought for a moment, and couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Dami. He _loved_ when people called him Dami."

"And to think, Nightwing, I thought I actually liked you." Damian spat from his perch on the windowsill. He'd been glued to Dick's side since getting the intel that Nightwing would be on the prowl tonight. And seeing what his brother's target was actually made him almost happy to have tagged along. After all, it wasn't going to just please Grayson to speak to him. This was a two-way street. That didn't change the fact, however, that Damian didn't trust the likes of anyone who called themselves hunters of the paranormal.

Boss suddenly tilted his head, listening into the silence. His eyes shifted around the room before landing back on Nightwing's mask. "I think I heard something."

"What? What did you hear?"

"Can you say it again, Robin? If that's you?" Boss called to the empty room. It took everything Dick had to not spin around in search of his brother.

The one thing that really bothered Damian about these ghost hunters was that they seemed to think once you died, you became an idiot. That didn't stop him from enjoying any chance to mock them to his full ability. Damian slowly floated over next to the man, leaning down right next to his ear. "Nightwing, you simpleton. I said _Nightwing_."

The machines on the ground all went off. The one closest to Dick began blinking while the other's readings began to rise. "He's here," Boss breathed. "He said Nightwing."

And Damian hated it. He hated that pathetic look of hope that appeared on his brother's face at just the thought that he was still around. "Robin?" Dick whispered. "Is that really you?"

"Obviously." Damian sighed. Neither man reacted.

"The recorder is running," Boss muttered. "We'll check it when we're done here."

"Okay," Nightwing said slowly. His face contorted slightly. "This doesn't make much sense, though."

"What doesn't?"

"Why would he be here? I think I would have known if this building had some sort of meaning to him." Instantly, he smiled. "Not that I'm complaining about it, though. If it's really him."

"Little known fact I guess. Ghosts and spirits don't only haunt places. They can haunt people as well." Boss said. He reached out and touched both flashlights. "Now, Robin. Dami. We're going to do something here, okay? I'm going to ask you some yes or no questions, or Nightwing will, and depending on your answer, touch one of the lights. It'll turn on."

"This is a stupid game. I could probably throw that chair in the corner if I really wanted to," He muttered, lying on his stomach next to the flashlights. "But fine. If it is helpful to him, I will do it."

Boss smirked, and Damian wondered how much the man actually heard. He glanced at Dick, who didn't seem to hear anything. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." Boss explained. He pointed to the light at his left. "Hit this one for yes, and this one for no. Do you understand? Can you demonstrate for us?"

Damian hesitated, staring at his brother. Slowly, he reached out and tapped the one for yes. Even behind the lenses of the mask, he could tell Dick's eyes lit up as soon as the flashlight did. He leaned forward, clutching his knees, glaring at the torch as if Damian would manifest from it himself.

"Good. Turn it off?" Damian complied. "Alright, I'm going to ask you some questions, Robin. Think of it like those interrogations you and Batman did all the time, only less violent." Dick chuckled at Boss's attempt at humor. Damian just rolled his eyes. "They'll mostly be yes or no, but if there could be different answers, I'll specify. You ready, Nightwing?"

Dick gulped, but nodded. "Yeah."

"Ask your own questions at any time." Boss said, pressing a button on one of the devices. "So, Robin. You died. Are you stuck here on Earth?"

Damian hit the light for no. Two seconds later, he touched it again to turn it off.

"So, you could leave at any time you wanted?"

_Yes_.

"You have reasons to stay?"

_Yes_.

Dick interjected then. "Were you in pain?"

Damian didn't answer.

"When you died," He continued. Boss waited quietly. "When…when it happened, were you in pain?"

Still no answer. Because he knew what would happen. If he said no, Dick would know it was a blatant lie, and feel terrible. If he said yes, Dick would blame himself, and feel terrible.

"Please, Dami." Dick whispered. "I just…need to know."

Damian sighed in annoyance. He never could stand Grayson's tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He hit the flashlight hard enough that it rolled slightly.

_Yes_.

"Okay." Dick said after a moment. "I'm sorry, Robin. I should've-"

_No_.

_No. No. No. No. No._

Boss couldn't stop his eyes from widening slightly. A spirit had never been that…vehement about an answer before. He watched as the torch rolled quickly back and forth and for once, felt that they were in danger of the object being thrown into the air. The bursts of light were quick, and…there was a feeling of anger suddenly in the room.

Nightwing seemed to sense the same, but actually understood what it meant. "The 'what-ifs' are always going to be there, kid. For me and Red, because he was there too. We needed to be there for you, be strong-"

The machine next to Boss's hand shot across the room, smashing into the wall. Boss twitched in surprise, but kept his eyes glued to the flashlights and Nightwing. The masked man seemed oddly calm, oddly okay with the sudden tension in the room.

Damian was standing now, his hands balled into fists, glaring at Dick. "Stop it, just _stop it_!" He shouted. "What happened was nothing of your doing! It was _me_, Nightwing. My decision, my _choice_! The battle was getting out of hand, you and Red Robin were compromised. Did you really expect me to just hide? Let that…that monster keep attacking you?! Give him a chance to finish off Father or Todd?! Let Mother win?!"

"You know throwing a tantrum is never the way to get what you want," Nightwing said quietly. His voice was light, almost amused. "I thought we talked about this."

"You are _insufferable_," Damian was exasperated, slumping back onto the floor, face sliding into his hands. "You can't even _hear_ me and you manage to be this obnoxious in retaliation. I don't…I can't even…"

"May I ask?" Boss said, fixing the flashlights back to their off positions, ignoring the thrown device.

"If I had to guess?" Nightwing glanced over at him, his shoulders slumped, but a content smile ghosting his lips. "Robin doesn't blame me for what happened."

"…And?"

"And he's upset because I still do."

"Ah. Understandable." Boss shrugged, feeling the tension dissipate from the room. "Mind if we continue, Robin?"

Damian slapped the yes-light.

"Cool. So. Objectively. Was it Nightwing's fault you died?"

No hesitation. _No_.

"Red Robin's?"

_No._

Dick spoke again, "Batman's?"

Hesitation.

"Hit this one for maybe, and this one for if you don't know." Boss said.

More hesitation.

_I don't know. Maybe._

"Okay. Back to yes or no. Your reason for sticking around. A good one?"

_Yes._

"Would anyone ever believe you?"

Damian snorted a laugh.

_No_.

Boss stopped, looking up at Nightwing. "Anything you want to say, Wing?"

Dick was staring at the machine against the wall. "I miss you, kid. I don't know how else to say it. It's…tough. Really tough, you not being here."

Boss nodded absently. "What about you, Robbie? I can't guarantee we'll hear you, but the recorder might pick it up for later."

"Naturally," Damian snapped. "Nightwing, you cannot dwell. If you do, I will have no choice but to send Titus and Bat-cow after you. Trust me, you don't want that."

"Cow?" Boss whispered. Nightwing shrugged.

"Robin liked animals." He said. "And there was a certain cow he was very fond of."

"Interesting."

Damian shifted towards his brother. "It was painful to die, yes. But you know, Nightwing? It is more painful to see what you and the others are doing to yourselves. If I wasn't already dead, I'm pretty sure it would be killing me, seeing the lot of you so…not yourselves. Unnerving. I don't…I don't like it."

Suddenly, the door burst open, and the one called Maria was standing there. She looked between them before focusing on Boss. "You're going to want to see this."

"Can it wait?" Boss said coolly, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

"Not really."

"Fine. Give me two minutes." Boss waved her away. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Nightwing."

"I understand. You've got a business to run. Can't do that by helping out a mopey vigilante." Dick smiled, standing and watching Boss retrieve the machine by the wall.

"Don't sweat it. It's my pleasure. Believe it or not, I was going to try and find your bird soon anyway. Or at least see if I could figure out if the rumors were true." Boss moved over to his bag and began shutting down the equipment. "Robin saved my wife about a year or two ago. I never got the chance to thank him. Maybe this was a way I can, then. To let him speak to you again."

Nightwing shook his head, "I don't think-"

"I know my job is a little nutty, but don't take me for a fool, Nightwing. I can tell just by looking at you that this kid was something to you. Something important. And whatever happened to him knocked you back about fifty pegs on a ten-step ladder. Here," Boss held out the two flashlights and the recorder. "I got about fifteen of these in the truck. You take 'em, you'll put 'em to better use."

"Don't you want to dissect the audio, though? Could be breakthrough for you, as an investigator." Nightwing returned, slowly reaching his hands out.

"Doesn't matter. Whatever that spirit said means more to you than it ever will to me. If it was picked up on the recorder at all, mind you," Boss said, shoving the items into Dick's hands. "It's like you, in a way. You and your band of mystery heroes. I don't do this job for the money or the recognition. I do it because it's what I think is right. I do it because it might help people."

"…Thank you."

"Not a problem. Now just basically do what we did here. Find a quiet area, dark if you want, but doesn't need to be. Be relaxed, have the flashlights turned just so. The recorder doesn't necessarily need to be there, but if you want it, put it between the lights." Boss explained, hefting the bag across his shoulder. He held out his hand again, a card between his fingers. "If it doesn't work, or if you just think you need me again. Don't hesitate to call, cool?"

"Yeah," Dick took the card, staring at it for a moment before slipping it into the pocket on his sleeve. "And I hope you don't need me. But if you do, Gordon at the police station should be able to get me real quick."

"Deal." Boss turned to the door. "See you 'round, Nightwing."

Dick waited until he heard the outer door close again before putting the two flashlights on the counter. "This one for yes, this for no. Are you still here, Damian?"

Damian rolled his eyes once more. _Yes_.

Dick smiled, but it was a broken one. Damian could tell he was seconds away from shattering. Again. "Were you…did you say something about Bat-cow?"

_Yes_.

"I haven't seen her in a while. Think I should go visit?"

_Yes_.

Dick chuckled, but it was a sad sound. "Want to come with?"

"…You think you're so funny, Grayson." Damian muttered as Dick plucked the no-torch from the counter and turned it off, making it a non-option. Regardless the fact that he deemed it ridiculously immature, Damian tapped the remaining light anyway.

_Yes_.


	14. Nightmare

**You kids are too precious. And now I feel like I kind of bullied y'all into reviewing. I'm terrible. D:**

**To make up for being horrible, here's another one for you. That, and the next few weeks are going to be ridiculous, and even though I have no set time between updates, I'll feel bad for being away for a while. **

**This is another one of the dream stories (like chapter 5). Based a bit on the _Batman Annual _2, and while writing, I realized this kind of mirrors what went on in _Batman&Robin_ 17.**

* * *

Bruce cringed, slamming his eyes shut as he crumpled to the ground. It wouldn't stop, it just wouldn't _stop_.

"_Father…? Why didn't you…didn't you come for me?"_

He threw his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to stop the noise, the voice thick with tears. He began to cry himself.

"_Wasn't I…worth it?"_

His breathing became short. Good, that's good. Surely if he passed out, it would stop, right? His heart wouldn't have to be torn out over and over and over again. He wouldn't have to see the blood pouring from his son's chest, matching the tears falling from his face. Wouldn't have to see that fear, that betrayal. The sight of a scared little boy, whose father, the one he looked up to, didn't get there in time.

"Father?"

"I _was_, Damian, I _swear_. I was coming for you. I was on my way." He was shouting. Maybe if he was louder than the voice, the voice would stop. It would leave him alone, stop tearing through his soul like a runaway train.

"I never believed you weren't," the voice changed. There were no tears in this tone, no fear. Very little pain. Footsteps moved towards him. Bruce hiccupped and opened his eyes, staring at the dark ground for a moment before looking up. Damian was striding towards him. Not Robin, not Brucie Wayne's bastard child, just _Damian_. Jeans, a red hoody, sneakers. He seemed genuinely surprised at his father's state as he continued forward.

Bruce didn't hesitate. He lunged, taking Damian in his arms and squeezing him, almost as if the world would stop if he let go. The boy was limp for a second, confusion overtaking his muscles, before he returned the gesture. He cried into the boy's hair, mutterings completely lost.

The voice was still there, but quieter now. And every time it sounded off, Bruce hugged Damian tighter. Damian was concerned, patting his father's back every few seconds, but otherwise did nothing. "You hear it, don't you, son?"

"Afraid not, Father." Damian returned. "But…whatever it is, whatever's happening, whatever you hear, it isn't real. Okay?"

"It _is_. Oh my god, _it is_…" Bruce continued, his shoulders beginning to shake.

"No, Father, it's not. You're in a _dream_," Damian responded, lightly attempting to free himself from the hold. "A _nightmare_."

"A…what?" Bruce loosened his grip, but not by much, and stared down at his child. Damian was leaning against his chest, staring up with owlish blue eyes.

"A nightmare." He repeated. "And it's only logical. You've barely slept since your return from Arkham four days ago. That mixed with overexertion, small amount of food you've eaten and the alcohol you drank at that museum opening last night? Bound to happen, I guess."

"Arkham…?"

"What happened to you in there, anyway? Pennyworth told the Kryptonian that it was a routine test of some sort." Damian said, slowly unwinding his father's arms. "No one seemed concerned, and Abuse and Batgirl were going to bust Poison Ivy, so I opted to go with them instead of you. When I returned, Pennyworth seemed fidgety, the animals were nervous, and you had already locked yourself in your bedroom."

Damian's other voice was filtering in and out, in the background, still getting mixed with the sounds of Lincoln March, of _Thomas_, making it hard to concentrate on the here and now, on _this_ Damian and his words. This Damian had escaped the hug, but kept his hands firmly on Bruce's arms, demanding all attention. Any time Bruce began to look away, to get distracted by something in their surroundings, Damian would shake him slightly, until his focus came back.

"It…_she_…was in my mind. Reliving…_everything_…" Damian watched as his father failed to make a complete thought. Bruce was looking straight at him, but seemed to be seeing, or looking for, something else, his eyes sweeping up and down.

"Who was?"

Bruce opened his mouth to form a response when a loud sob echoed through the air.

"_Didn't I…wasn't I good enough?"_

Damian watched as his father's eyes widened as he began to shake his head. Grief flowed from him as his knees started to buckle. He leaned forward, grasping Damian's shoulders, trying to keep himself upright.

"_Wasn't I worth it?"_

"Of course…you _are_, Damian. You _are_. I was coming. I swear, I was coming for you. If I had known beforehand, if I hadn't been caught, I…" Bruce looked up, gaze landing on something behind Damian's head. All the color drained from his face as tears began to fall from his face again. "Oh…no…please, _no_…!"

Damian turned. It wasn't hard to see what his father was painfully focused on. In the blackness of the nightmare, his colorful body stuck out like a sore thumb. He seemed to be suspended in the air, stabbed through with a sword once more, only this time from the back. Blood poured from his chest, running down his leg and dripping into oblivion. The hood of his Robin costume covered his head, but his face was still visible, contorted into a look of agony and fear.

"_In the end, why didn't you…didn't you…come for me?"_

"Ah. _That_." Damian muttered. Bruce had all but collapsed on him at this point. Damian watched as Robin continued through his pattern, saying the same phrases over and over, both blood and tears never ending. Before Bruce could react, Damian pulled away completely, watching as the older man sunk to the ground. Once he was sure his father wasn't going to follow, breakdown or tackle him again, he moved towards himself, watching his dying muscles spasm and twitch.

"_Fa…ther…"_

"I'm coming, Damian. I…I'm coming…" Bruce called from behind him.

"_Didn't I_…_wasn't I_…" Damian walked up to himself, locking eyes. Robin couldn't see him though. He wasn't looking back. As expected, Damian mused, it was just a figment of his Father's worst thoughts.

"Oh, shut up." Damian snapped, waving his hand through Robin's torso, the body instantly fading away around his fingers, the voice along with it. Damian turned back towards his father, sighing as he moved. "Annoying thing…"

Bruce looked up as Damian neared him. "You heard it?"

"Yes, I'd just tuned it out. It'd been going on like that for hours." Damian crouched in front of the man. "It's gone now, though. You'll be alright."

Bruce glanced around, as if he didn't believe him. Satisfied that there was nothing else hiding in the darkness, he sat up a little, reaching a hand out to hold Damian's face. Damian permitted the touch.

"I miss you," Bruce said, running a thumb over Damian's cheek.

"I miss you too, Father."

"The others…don't come by anymore." He sighed, dropping his hand.

"I'm aware," Damian nodded, shifting to sit at Bruce's side. "It's regrettable, but not unsurprising."

"I know." Bruce agreed. He let out a breath that was shaky and uncertain. Damian looked up at him as he leaned into his side. A smile appeared on Bruce's lips as he put his arm around his child. "You are, you know."

"I am…what?"

"Good enough. _Better_ than good enough. More than worth it," he sighed, resting his head on Damian's. "You are worth more than the world, Damian, and not a day goes by that I don't wish I could go back in time, find a way to save you, to keep you safe."

"Interesting way to spend your time. I hope Gotham isn't jealous," Damian smirked. Bruce chuckled, giving the boy's shoulder a sharp squeeze.

"I don't think I ever thanked you," Bruce muttered after a short pause.

"For?"

"For finally pulling me out of the dark."

"It was the least I could do, I suppose. After all, you did that for me and then some." Damian grinned. Suddenly he looked off to the side and his grin grew wider. "Now you might want to wake up before Pennyworth gets to your door. He'll be very cross if you don't at least attempt to eat the ridiculously large waffle breakfast I believe he just made for you."

Bruce turned to look in the direction Damian was and found himself staring at his bedroom door, sounds of Titus scratching and Alfred scolding filtering through the wood, smells of maple syrup and eggs accompanying them.

How…?!


	15. Partners

**Was reading a few older _Batman&Robin_ trades recently. And I just really missed Jason's old partner, Sasha.**

**I'm not sure if it's come across yet, but whatever universe I'm writing is a mixture of bits I like of pre-and New52. And man, did I love Jason and Sasha.**

**Poorly edited. And another one where it just took a mind of its own. Sorry in advance.**

* * *

Abuse slammed into the wall, sliding down it with a groan. "You bitch!" Damian cursed, gliding to a halt next to his friend. "I swear, if he's hurt, I'll-"

"You're not all flashy like the Bat, so you might actually be able to help me," the voice from the roof called. Damian looked up, only able to see her silhouette. Medium height, caped, vicious blades in her hand, dripping with Abuse's blood. "Can you do that for me, mister?"

Abuse coughed, gripping the brick in an attempt to stand. His breathing heavy, he said, "Most people…ask first."

"Sorry," she purred, jumping down the fire escape, landing a few feet away, but remained in darkness. Damian's instincts kicked in. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he stood protectively in front of his friend anyway. "But I'm a shoot first, questions later kind of gal."

"I don't think I've ever seen you around here," Abuse observed, pushing off the wall. Damian felt his anger rising as he noticed blood beginning to spread underneath the trench coat. "What can I help you with?"

The girl stepped forward. No mask, but an alarming shade of red hair. She was prettier than Damian remembered, but then again, she had disappeared nearly three years prior, and was never mentioned after. For a time, he thought she had died, or given up the lifestyle.

"Where is the Red Hood?"

Abuse huffed in annoyance, spitting blood against the pavement. "How the hell would I know?"

"Don't give me that, you little twerp." She snapped. "I've seen you with the Bats. You may not be an official member of their posse, but they trust you."

"Tell her nothing, Wilkes." Damian barked.

Abuse paused, seemingly to weigh his options. After a few moments, Damian dropped his position, turning to his friend. Abuse sighed. "Why?"

"Hood's a friend of mine," she said, almost sadly. "We lost touch a couple years ago. Some intel brought me back through Gotham, though. And I want to compare notes."

Abuse nodded, chewing on his lip in thought. Damian exhaled, crossing his arms. His friend was such a pushover. "Fine. If he's here at all, the apartment above Frankie's Bakery, halfway down First Avenue, in the older part of the city."

She smiled. "Now was that so hard?"

As the woman turned away, Damian cringed as Abuse's hand shot through his body, clutching her arm. "Don't hurt him," he growled. "You hurt him, or anyone else, I will hunt you down and return the favor."

She immediately tugged her arm away. Her voice low and threatening as she warned, "Careful, tiger."

Damian jumped up, catching the niche that allowed him to float, and followed the woman, glancing back only once to see Abuse lean back against the wall, examining his wounds. "Call Nightwing, I think he's closest to here. It'll give him something to do."

As the redheaded woman turned the corner, Damian made a mental note to check on Colin in the morning.

* * *

It would be Harper to answer the door.

"Can I…help you?"

"Jason Todd. The Red Hood. Is he here?" The woman was not subtle. Damian studied her posture. She was tense, furious almost. She hadn't put her blades away yet. Colin's blood had dried on the metal.

Harper immediately became defensive. "May I ask who's-"

"Scarlet." She said. "Tell him it's Scarlet, and that I need to talk to him. Alone."

The archer stared at her for a moment before nodding and closing the door. Damian debated just phasing through the wall, but decided against it. The sight of both Harper and, no doubt, the alien badgering Todd about the late-night arrival is something he really didn't need to witness.

Todd and his redheads. He was getting almost as bad as Grayson.

(Not that Damian was one to talk.)

The door reopened to the Tamaranian pulling a now coated-Harper out. She regarded Scarlet with a critical eye, silently giving the woman the same warning as Abuse had. As she continued to tug the grumbling man down the stairs, she said, "He is just getting out of the shower, and will be in the bedroom farthest from the kitchen."

Scarlet nodded a thanks and went inside, pocketing her knives. Damian followed behind, seeing the anger roll off the woman. He wondered what had happened. He tried to think back to the days of Professor Pyg and when that organization kidnapped her to get back at Todd. She didn't have any other family that he knew of, or many friends outside of the former Robin either, which is what made the two-year hiatus even more mysterious.

The hallway was short, but all the doors were open except for one. Scarlet moved quickly towards it, not even bothering to knock. Instead, she kicked it open and stood in the doorway, hands balled into fists. Jason stood there, a strange mixture of shock and expectation covering his face. He seemed to know he didn't have time, opting to put his trousers on first. He had been reaching for a shirt when the door was slammed into the wall.

"Sasha…" he muttered, abandoning the t-shirt. "Long time no see."

"You didn't tell me," she hissed. "Why didn't you tell me? How could you not tell me?!"

Her voice rose with every question, each one letting out a little more anger. Jason watched her for a moment, glancing away only once to measure the distance to his guns. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Robin!" she screamed.

"Hrm," Jason mumbled, turning back towards the closet. "Didn't know you two were so close."

"Close has nothing to do with it. He was a good kid. Good _soldier_, and those are your words." She walked into the room, stationing herself at the window. Damian tensed when he saw her put a hand on one of her blades. "He saved my life at least once. More, depending on who you asked. He was my partner for brief moments and both our teams kept tabs on each other."

"None of this justifies you busting into my nice little apartment here and scaring my friends…" he trailed off as his phone beeped on the nightstand. He read the message and frowned. "…or attacking another Gotham costume. Really, Sasha? Abuse?"

"Couldn't find your buddy Nightwing."

The frown deepened. "Look, whatever grudge you have against me on this topic, _you_ _take it out on me_, got it? You leave Batman alone, you leave Red Robin alone, and you sure as hell leave _Nightwing_ alone."

Jason's tone finally made Sasha flinch. "After all we've been through, you and me, you thought I wouldn't want to know that a guy we teamed up with had been killed in action?"

"You're not exactly easy to find," Jason sat on the end of the bed. "Remember, when we parted ways, we made sure to cover every track you had. Well, we did an awfully good job of it, because unless you call me I can't find you. And believe me, I've tried. Pretty dumb in the long run, but it's safer for you. And that's all that matters."

Sasha sighed, sitting next to Jason. "It's more than that, Jay. It's…well, you knew him, right? Better than you let on. He was a weird sort of family to you, right? Him and that Batman we fought. Not the one running around now, but a different one."

Damian moved around the bed, flipping the volume switch on Jason's phone to silent. This sounded like a talk that maybe needed to happen, no interuptions. He then stood next to Sasha, pausing to make sure the girl didn't notice his presence.

"Yeah, you could say that." Jason's laugh was dry. "He was like the little brother I never wanted."

"And you didn't tell me he died." Sasha repeated. The anger was still there, but subdued. Gentle. Like a mother scolding her child. "And I couldn't help _you_."

Jason looked up at her, confused. Sasha shifted, putting her hand against his face. Damian took the opening and lashed out, unclipping the knives from her belt and watching as they tumbled onto the comforter. He'd seen the two of them fight before. Jason was stubborn and Sasha was rash. If Jason didn't listen to whatever message Sasha was trying to deliver, the whole situation could get violent quick.

"What?" Jason whispered.

"You will always be my friend, Jason. You know that, right?" she smiled, exasperated, as if she's had to tell Jason this a million times. "And when I heard that Robin had been killed, yes I was sad for him, but somehow I suspect that's what he would have wanted anyway, dying in battle."

"Probably. He was a weird little shit about that kind of stuff."

"But then I thought of you," Sasha continued. "I know you're in the Bat's inner circle, but none of you are close." She stopped for a moment, seemingly unhappy with how she was explaining things. "You've been there to comfort everyone else through the loss. You mentioned the other three earlier. Who's been there for you?"

"No one needs to be there for me," Jason moved away from her hand. "I'm not upset about it."

"Really?"

"I've made my peace with what happened. I'm just watching to make sure the others can, too."

Sasha full out laughed. "Jason Todd, you are the worst liar I've ever met."

"You're just noticing now?" Damian murmured, continuing to push the knives out of reach.

After a beat of silence, Jason laughed too. Just once, and it was a soft sound. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am."

"Come here," Sasha whispered, wrapping her arms around Jason's bare shoulders. He allowed the embrace, leaning into her neck. As Damian completed his task of hiding the blades beneath the blanket, he looked up to see Sasha slowly start to stroke Jason's hair. "The two who left, they don't quite get it, do they?"

"Roy does," Jason sighed. "He lost his daughter a few years back. Kori…I don't know. Maybe. But they don't…I don't want them to do anything. It's not their burden to think about."

"I bet they'd be willing, though. If you let them."

"Probably. Roy's all about that kind of sunshine and rainbows crap." Jason closed his eyes. "You know what the worst of it all is?"

"Hm?"

"It was his mother." There was darkness in Jason's voice. "His own goddamn _mom_. That's who killed him. And don't get me wrong, the woman was a bitch, but of all the people in the world who I thought might off the brat, it was never her."

"Poor kid." Sasha muttered, leaning her head on Jason's and staring out the nearby window. Damian shrunk into curtain he was now standing by. "What happened to her?"

"Shot, point blank." Sasha looked down, trying to catch a glimpse of Jason's face. "Not by me, though. Not by anyone who should have. One of Batman's old flames. It's…complicated."

"As it always is."

"To make things worse, someone stole the kid's body from his grave. He had a shitty life and is apparently going to have a shitty death too. No one's going to let him rest in peace." Jason ran his hand down his face. "Jesus, I'm not even supposed to _know_ that. Nightwing doesn't know that."

"Why not?"

"Because it would absolutely destroy him. And we can't have that."

"How'd you find out?"

"My old caretaker told me to keep an eye out during my travels. I don't think he got authorization to tell me that, though."

"Ah. My lips are sealed then." They sat in silence for a few moments. Damian glanced out the window just in time to see Starfire flying across the sky. He looked back to see that Jason still had his eyes closed, hand resting on Sasha's leg. Sasha, however, had resumed staring at the window, and had no doubt seen the alien. "When are your friends due to return?"

"Whenever I call them. So probably not until tomorrow morning at the earliest." Jason's fingers twitched against her skin. "Would you like to stay?"

"Only if you want me to."

"What if I need you to?" Jason countered. The walls were down, and it'd be a while before he would be able to put them back up. "It's been a while, Sasha. If you came all this way to bitch at me about my repressed emotions, then we've got a lot more to cover than just the poor dead bird. Not to mention I want to hear what you've been doing. You can't get away that easy."

"Well, in that case," Sasha said, unwinding her arms and standing. Jason made a small noise of disappointment. "Where do you keep your beer?"

Jason fell back against the bed. "Fridge."

"Great. Find yourself a shirt and I'll be back in a few." She smirked. "Or don't. I've already seen four new scars that I can't wait to hear the stories behind."

Damian followed Sasha back out to the kitchen, planning to leave. Todd was enough like Grayson that a night of talking and alcohol could lead to something he _really_ did not want to think about. As he reached the door, Sasha cleared her throat.

"I wouldn't have stabbed Jason." She called. Damian spun around. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was unfastening her cape, staring at one of the arrows Roy had left on the counter. "I would never physically wound him, no matter how mad at him I was."

Damian narrowed his eyes. Sasha chuckled.

"I can't see you, but I know you moved my knives. I can hear you though, but barely. Like wind or something. It started happening a while ago. Not just you, a bunch of weird voices. I saw a therapist once. He seemed to think it was an effect of that dollotron mask." She moved around like she'd lived in the apartment all her life. "But I…just wanted to say I'm sorry. It probably sucked, dying. But don't you worry about ol' Red Hood, okay? You take care of Batman. Nightwing too, if you have the time. But leave Hood to me. I'll take it from here."

Sasha didn't wait for a response. Not like Damian had one anyway. She grabbed four bottles from the fridge and glided back to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Damian sighed as he phased through the door. He didn't trust her and he didn't really like her, but one thing was for sure. Sasha understood his brother better than he ever could. And she would be able to help him through his emotions and grief with much more ease than any of them. He wouldn't stop checking in, wouldn't stop making sure his brother was okay. But for now, maybe just this once, he could stop worrying. Because for now, a part of his family was okay. A part of his family was…

Happy.

For an all to brief, shining moment, one of them was happy. And that was more than enough.


	16. Stray

**Based on...the fact that two weeks into my senior year, uni is already frying my brain and I just needed Damian and kittens to make me feel better. So.**

**The real dark, angsty Dick chapter should be next, I've decided. A bunch of ideas keep popping into my head, but they're all about Dick, so I'm trying to find ways to fill the space between them with other characters. Also thinking of a few involving Injustice!Dick. Yay/nay?**

**This is the old Teen Titans team, because they were my jam, and I miss the real Garfield Logan and old Kon. Also, I don't read the current Teen Titans comics, so wouldn't feel right writing them. And this universe is a mix of old/new DCU. **

* * *

The kitten was hurt.

Thunder crashed overhead, almost drowning out the waning gunshots from two streets over. Closer, a prostitute and her client of the hour made disgusting noises from behind the dumpster. A glass bottle smashing and shouting echoed from the fire escape above.

But the kitten was hurt.

It was Gotham on a typical night. Every hero and ally Damian could think of was out on the town. Even Nightwing had been seen jumping across a few rooftops, angrily and viciously beating criminals he may not have otherwise. In fact, Damian was on his way to somehow stop his crumbling older brother when he came across the scene before him. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened, judging by the surrounding carcasses. People of Gotham City didn't just take their rage out on each other, they took it out on the strays and furry too. Taking in all the other nearby sounds, he could only guess the argument upstairs was a break-up, and at one point the fight had been about the felines, since "Cleopatra isn't even _your_ cat!" was a repeating retort. Wasn't hard to hypothesize, not when a cat with a collar and tag matching that name lay lifeless nearby, two bullet-riddled kittens next to her.

In a fit of anger, the mother and her babies had been thrown from the apartment two floors up. Then in a moment of cruelty, some backstreet badass decided to test his new gun on a target that wouldn't fight back. Damian knew who they were. If he was correct, it was Nightwing's current target, using the alleyways as a supposed secret passageway. And five minutes ago, Nightwing was right on their tail.

The kitten was _hurt_.

Damian could quell Nightwing's anger another night.

He knelt next to the creature, which was mewing hoarsely, trying to crawl towards its mother and siblings on a broken front leg. "Shhh," Damian cooed. The kitten turned its head slowly, crusty eyes blinking. "You're okay now, friend. I will take care of you."

Unfortunately, he found instantly, the kitten's mass was too much for his ghostly hands. All he could do at this point was stroke the creature, who seemed to be taking to him rather quickly. It had turned from its family, now opting to cuddle between Damian's knees.

A crash came from the rooftop, followed by some ridiculously fast words, and a sarcastic-sounding response. Damian looked up just in time to see the younger Kryptonian, a golden lasso, a speedster (briefly), and a green mountain goat hopping the gap between buildings.

Drake's team.

Drake was in town?

He didn't hesitate, dissipating from the ground to the roof and examining the group. Drake was, of course, in the middle of the battle with the enemy, a fat, half naked man with some sort of fire-based weapon. He seemed to be working alone and had no hostages, just there to cause general havoc, so surely could be handled by the rest of the team.

That kitten was hurt, dying probably, and right now that was all Damian cared about.

"Beast Boy!" he called.

"What?" the green now-gorilla shouted, annoyed. Clearly, he thought Damian was just one of the teammates behind him, not recognizing the tone. Relief flooded Damian's system when his theory worked. Garfield Logan was animal enough to have that sixth sense.

"I need Drake. Can you handle this on your own?"

"…what?" Garfield started to turn, but at the last moment, saw Kid Flash needed his help. "You need Red...? What fo-"

"I said, can you handle this?!" Damian pushed.

"Yes!" Garfield snapped.

"Then do not be concerned. Red Robin will be in the alleyway below you when you are finished." Damian moved towards his brother. At that moment, Tim flipped away from the man, perching expertly on the edge of the roof. Perfect.

"Gar, who're you-" Tim started, but felt two hands hit against his chest. He teetered on the ledge, trying to regain his balance, when he felt a tug against his cape. All hope was lost then, and the only thing he could do was try to stick a landing that wouldn't break his legs.

It wasn't as graceful as he wanted. He landed in the dumpster, garnering a shriek and curse from a couple making out next to it. He groaned as he heard the tap-tap of the woman's heels running away. Sitting up, he looked around. Surely, this guy didn't have a partner, did he?

He did a sweep of the alley and saw nothing, though there was an incessant meowing somewhere close. Midway through his second probe, he froze. Damian was standing in front of the dumpster, arms crossed, face angry but urgent.

"Damian," he breathed. The boy opened his mouth, speaking, but there was no sound. He shook his head. "I don't…I can't hear you…"

Damian sighed, arm stretching out in a point to the ground a few feet away. Tim followed the direction as he hopped out of the trash. He walked forward until he came upon the bodies of three dead cats, and one not far from the same fate. He was about to look back at Damian when the boy was suddenly kneeling in front of him, trying to push the still-living kitten away from the others. The animal meowed sorrowfully, nestling against Damian's cupped hands.

The spirit looked up expectantly. "You want me…to save the cat?"

Damian nodded as if it were obvious.

A blast reverberated from the roof. "Damian, I would love to but…I'm kind of…busy…"

The little kitten seemed to only just realize Tim was there, and looked up in fear. Tim still couldn't hear him, but could see Damian speaking. The kitten seemed to relax, shuffling slowly over to Tim's boots, mewing excitedly at him. Damian crossed his arms again.

Tim exhaled and rolled his eyes as he bent down to scoop the kitten up. Its fur was sticky with blood, the front paw was broken, and that stuff around its eyes looked none too healthy. And that was only a preliminary examination. Damian stood up, continuing to stare. Tim tried to think of a reason why he couldn't, why he _shouldn't_, do this menial thing Damian was asking of him, but it was futile.

"Red!" a shout came from above. Tim glanced up to see Kon floating above him. "You alright?"

"Peachy," Tim said. "All done up there?"

"Yup." Kon nodded. Other members of the team looked down from the roof or airspace around it. "Where to next?"

"…Home, for me." Tim sighed. Damian smirked.

"Why?" Kon shifted. "What've you got there?"

"Kitten." The animal squirmed in Tim's hands, but eventually began to rub its face against his thumb, curling up against the warmth of his gloves. "I think its family was killed by some gunners back here. It's hurt but…I might be able to nurse it back to health. Enough to get it adopted or something, maybe."

"What is it with you bat-folk taking up strays all the time?" Kid Flash called from the roof.

Tim glared at Damian, who was still whispering things to the kitten, with the kitten responding loudly. Damian looked up, his smirk softer as he mouthed a "Thank you."

"It has been a long day, though…" Kon muttered, looking up at the team. "Maybe we should call it a night? Head back home ourselves? It seems your Gotham people have most things under control, and Gar, I know you got cut up pretty bad…"

"I agree." Wondergirl called, starting to fly away. "And I'm dying for a meal. Like a real meal. None of that microwave stuff we've been living off of in Iceland for the past month…"

The team took off then, talking about food and other things they wanted to do that evening. Tim looked down at the cat who was quickly falling asleep. "You're going to come check on it, aren't you?"

Damian grinned.

"Who're you talking to?" Kon called, apparently waiting for his friend.

"No one." Tim said, gently putting the kitten in one of the bigger pouches on his utility belt. It wasn't ideal, but it would be safer, and warmer, there. Damian didn't object. The kitten didn't either, judging by the little kneading claws against Tim's side as he shot a line towards the roof.

"So…" Kon mused from beside him as he swung onto the roof. Damian was waiting for them up there. "What're you going to name him?"

"She, actually." Tim said, checking on the kitten one last time. She looked up, bright blue eyes accented by the fuzzy calico face. Kon laughed. "And I don't know…I'm thinking Desdemona."

"Desdemona?" Kon asked. "Why?"

Tim shrugged, glancing at Damian, who was rolling his eyes, but nodding with a smile. "It's from Othello. You know, the play? Kind of a family tradition for pets, Shakespearian names."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean…look at Damian's dog." Tim said, closing the pouch and shooting another line. He tried to ignore the flinch Kon gave at the mention of their fallen teammate. "His name is Titus – from Titus Andronicus? – and he's pretty awesome."

"KF was right," Kon said exasperatedly, but following. "You bat-folk are weird."

"Maybe," Tim chuckled, looking back across the roof. Damian was gone. "But I have a feeling someone out there will appreciate it."


End file.
